SHADES OF Christian
by sinward
Summary: More 'Fifty Shades of Grey' outtakes from Christian's POV written by E. L. James. (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

Hello Readers,

If—like me—you wished, hoped, longed for E. L. James to write the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy from Christian's POV, then this post is for you.

I have long heard about 'the Fifty Shades of Grey outtakes' and assumed that the commentaries were referring to the bonus material at the end of Fifty Shades Freed, namely 'SHADES OF Christian' and 'MEET FIFTY SHADES'.

However, after watching 'Fifty Shades of Grey Photos & Videos Part 3 – The End by Finilla' on YouTube. I learnt that there were more outtakes from Christian's POV that weren't published in the books.

With doubting hope, I went in search of these elusive outtakes, and to my utter, utter surprise—I found them.

After countless re-reads, I've decided to post them here for fans who weren't aware of these outtakes up until now—to read and enjoy.

With respect this post, I would like to stipulate that the materials herein belong wholly, entirely, and irrevocably to my Mistress of Provocative Romance—the one and only E. L. James.

I own nothing from the world of Fifty Shades of Grey, I profit nothing from this post and I have obtained the materials herein from the public domain.

My intention for posting this material is simply to share with the fans of Fifty Shades of Grey who wanted 'more' of Christian Grey—no copyright infringement is intended.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Outtake from Chapters 7 &amp; 8 of Fifty Shades of Grey<strong>

**Another First**

**Christian's POV**

"So, limits. These are mine." I hand her the list. This is it, shit or bust time. I know my limits by heart and mentally tick off them off as I watch her read through. She gets paler and paler as she nears the end. Oh Christ.

Hard Limits  
>No acts involving fire play<br>No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof  
>No acts involving needles, knives, piercing or blood<br>No acts involving children or animals No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin  
>No acts involving breath control.<p>

She swallows and glances nervously up at me, her blue eyes wide and around.

Fuck, I hope this doesn't scare her away – surely these limits demonstrate that I'm not into any of the extreme shit. I cannot believe how anxious I feel. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want this girl. I want her submission – crave her submission. Why, I don't know. Ever since the interview she's been plaguing my mind, visions of her haunting my dreams: her biting her lip, tucking her hair behind her ear, her hesitant, musical voice, ringing in my head. What is it about her? I want to make this arrangement work. How can I persuade her to try? Say yes, Anastasia, please.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" I keep my voice gentle, but hope she won't add anything. I want carte blanche with her.

She stares at me, seemingly at a loss for words. It's... irritating. I am not used to waiting for answers. What is she thinking?

"Is there anything you won't do?" I prompt.

"I don't know."

Not the response I'm expecting.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

She shifts on her seat and looks uncomfortable.

"I've never done anything like this..."

Christ, of course she hasn't! Patience, Grey, for fuck's sake! You've thrown a great deal of information at her.

"Well, when you've had sex, was there anything that you didn't like doing?" I ask patiently.

She flushes and my interest is piqued immediately.

What has she done that she didn't like? Is she adventurous in bed? She seems so – inexperienced. Normally I don't find that attractive, but with her...

"You can tell me, Anastasia. We have to be honest with each other, or this isn't going to work." I really have to encourage her to loosen up – she won't even talk about sex.

She's squirming again and staring at her fingers. Come on, Anastasia.

"Tell me," I order. Christ, she's frustrating sometimes.

"Well... I've never had sex before... so I don't know."

I gape at her as her words seep slowly into my consciousness. Not had sex before. Fuck. The earth stops spinning. I don't fucking believe it. How? Why? Fuck!

"Never?" I can hear the incredulity in my whisper. How can this beautiful girl be...?

She's shaking her head at me.

"You're a virgin?" I can't fucking believe it.

She nods, embarrassed.

I close my eyes, unable to look at her. How the fuck did I get this so wrong? Shit... How the hell? Anger lances through me. What can I do with a fucking virgin? I glare at her as unexpected and unanticipated fury floods my mind.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" I growl, and start to pace my study. What do I want with a fucking virgin?

She shrugs apologetically, at a loss for words, reflecting my bewilderment.

I stop pacing. Shit, she'll want to go.

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me." I can hear the exasperation in my voice. I've never fucked a virgin.

"The subject never came up," she mutters. "I'm not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everybody I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other."

As ever, it's a fair point. I scowl. I can't believe I've given her the bus tour of my playroom... Thank fuck for the NDA.

She peeks up at me.

"Well, you know a lot more about me now," I snap at her. "I knew you were inexperienced... but a virgin! Hell, Ana, I just showed you..." Christ, not only the playroom, my rules, hard limits. She knows nothing. How could I do this? "May God forgive me..."

And a startling thought occurs to me – our one kiss in the elevator, where I could have fucked her there and then – was that her first kiss?

"Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?" Please say yes.

"Of course I have." She almost looks offended, but her brow furrows, forming the little 'v' I like. Yeah, she's been kissed, but not often. And for some reason that I don't want to fathom, the thought is... pleasing.

"And a nice young man hasn't swept you off your feet? I just don't understand. You're twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You're beautiful." Why hasn't some guy taken her to bed? Were all the boys she knew in college idiots? Were they blind? Fuck – perhaps she's religious. No, Welch would have found that out at least.

She gazes down at her fingers, and I think she's smiling, though at what I have no idea. She thinks this is funny! Christ, I could kick myself.

"And you're seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience..." Words fail me.

"How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please." I don't understand.

She's in college, and from what I remember of college all the students were fucking like rabbits. All of them... except me. I had rowing, and Elena... the memory is a dark one and I push it aside to deal with the beautiful enigma sitting in front of me.

She shrugs, her small shoulders shaking slightly.

"No-one's really... you know..." She trails off.

No-one's what? Seen you for the attractive woman you are? No-one's lived up to your expectations – and I do? Fuck, she really does know nothing. How could she ever be a submissive if she has no idea? This is not going to work. I can see all my plans crumbling to dust.

"Why are you so angry with me?" she whispers.

I glare at her. Of course, she would think that. Grey, sort this out. "I'm not angry with you, I'm angry at myself. I just assumed..." Why the fuck would I be angry with you? What a fucking mess this is. I run my hands through my hair, trying to rein in my temper.

"Do you want to go?" I ask. Please don't go.

"No... unless you want me to go," she murmurs.

"Of course not. I like having you here." The statement surprises me as I say it. I do like having her here. Interacting with her. She's so... refreshing. And I want to fuck her, control her, beat her, and watch her alabaster skin pink beneath my hands. That's out of the question now – isn't it? Perhaps not the fucking... perhaps I could.

The thought is revelatory. I could take her to bed... Break her in. It would be a novel experience for both of us. Would she want to? She asked me earlier if I was going to make love to her. I could try, without tying her up. But she might touch me... Fuck. I glance down at my watch.

"It's late," I mutter. When I look back at her she's biting her lip. The sight of her small even white teeth pressed into her plump bottom lip is arousing. It stirs my groin.

Shit... I want her, still, in spite of her innocence. Could I take her to bed? Would she want to, knowing what she knows about me now? Christ, I have no idea. Do I just ask her?

"You're biting your lip." I mutter distractedly.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's just that I want to bite it too... hard."

Her breath hitches. Thank Fuck. It's my cue. She's aroused. Yes... I can do this. She wants it too – and my decision is made.

"Come," I murmur, holding out my hand.

"What?"

"We're going to rectify the situation right now." Put an end to your virginity.

"What do you mean? What situation?"

"Your situation. Ana, I'm going to make love to you, now."

"Oh." She blinks at me. Shit – have I misread this again?

"That's if you want to... I mean, I don't want to push my luck."

"I thought you didn't make love. I thought you fucked, hard," she whispers, her voice all husky and breathy and so damned seductive, her eyes wide, pupils dilating. She's flushed with desire – she wants this too. She does. And from deep within I feel a wholly unexpected bubble of pleasure spread through me... and I grin at her.

"I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we'll see. I really want to make love to you. Please come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work – but you really need to have some idea what you're letting yourself in for. We can start your training tonight, with the basics. This doesn't mean I've come over all hearts and flowers – it's a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too." The words flood out in a torrent before I know what I'm really saying. Shit, Grey. Get a hold of yourself. This girl confounds me... every step of the way.

She blinks up at me and flushes.

Come on, Ana, yes or no. I'm dying here.

"But I haven't done all the things you require from your list of rules." Her voice is hesitant. Afraid. I don't want her to be afraid... no.

"Forget about the rules. Forget about all that stuff for tonight. I want you. I've wanted you since you fell into my office. And I know you want me. You wouldn't be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn't. I can be gentle... and I will. Please, Ana... spend the night with me."

I hold out my hand to her again and this time she places her hand in mine. Pulling her up into my arms I hold her flush against my body. She gasps with surprise and I feel her against me... Christ I want her. She's so arousing. For such an innocent, how can that be? I've given her so much to think about and she's still here. She's not running... and yet she knows nothing.

I wind my hand around her ponytail and tug gently so I can stare into her pale-blue captivating eyes.

"You are one brave young woman," I whisper. "I am in awe of you." I lean down and very gently kiss her, then pull her lower lip with my teeth. "I want to bite this lip." I tug harder and she moans. My cock hardens instantly in response. "Please Ana... let me make love to you," I whisper against her mouth.

"Yes," she whispers – and my body lights up like Christmas. I can barely suppress my moan. Christ, get a grip, Grey. I beam down at her... Whoa. A yes, a yes, from little virgin Ana, I can't believe it. We have no arrangement in place, no limits set, she's not mine to do with as I please –and yet I feel... excited. Aroused. It's such an unfamiliar, yet exhilarating feeling... desire for this woman coursing through me. Vanilla sex... Can I do this? Fuck – yes, I can.

Without another word I lead her out of my study, through the living room and along the corridor to my bedroom. She follows, her hand tightly holding mine. Contraception – fuck. I have some condoms... in my bedside table, yeah. I'm sure she's not on the pill or anything. At least I don't have to worry about every dick she's slept with.

I release her by the bed, walk over to my chest of drawers, and take off my watch and my shoes and socks. She gazes at me, her bright eyes impossibly large in her small beautiful face. I feel a moment's hesitation. This is supposed to be a big deal for her... isn't it? I remember my first time, and what a heaven-sent relief it was. I'm sure she won't feel that way. I don't want to question my motives, I don't want to analyze why I'm doing this. Deep down I know I should send her home. But the simple truth is, I don't want her to go, and I desire her. What's more, I can see my desire reflected in her expression.

"Do you want the blinds drawn?" I ask.

"I don't mind," she whispers. "I thought you didn't let anyone sleep in your bed."

I want to snort... sleep?

"Who says we're going to sleep?" I murmur. "Oh..." she says, her lips forming a perfect small 'o'.

My cock hardens. Yes, I'd like to fuck that mouth, that 'o'. I stroll towards her like she's my prey. Oh baby, I want to bury myself in you. I stand in front of her, looking down into her wide blue eyes.

Her breathing is shallow and quick. She's flushed... wary, but excited. It makes me feel so powerful. She has no idea what I am going to do to her... Well, I'm going to undress you now, Miss Steele.

"Let's get this jacket off shall we?" Reaching up I gently push her jacket off her shoulders, fold it and place it on my chair.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you, Ana Steele?"

She gasps, and I reach up to touch her cheek with my fingertips. Her skin is petal soft. I run my fingers down to her chin.

She gazes at me... lost... under my spell. She's already mine. The thought is intoxicating.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" I murmur, and grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Leaning down I kiss her firmly, molding her lips to mine. She's soft and sweet and willing... I need to see her, all of her. I make quick work of her buttons, slowly peeling off her blouse and letting it fall to the floor. I stand back to gaze at her. She's wearing a pale blue bra... the one Taylor bought... Fuck, she's beautiful.

"Oh Ana. You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it."

There's not a mark on her. The thought is unsettling. I want to see her marked... pink... welts from my crop maybe.

She flushes her delicious rose color, embarrassed no doubt. If I do nothing else, I shall teach her not be shy of her beautiful body. Reaching up I pull her hair tie, freeing her hair. It tumbles in a glorious, lush, chestnut cloud around her face, down to her breasts.

"Hmm... I really like brunettes," I murmur.

She is very, very lovely, a precious jewel. I frown inwardly at the thought. Flowery, Grey.

I grasp her head, running my fingers through her soft hair, and pull her to me, kissing her. She moans against me and parts her lips allowing me access to her warm wet mouth. The sweet appreciative noise echoes through me – right the way to the end of my cock. Fuck. Her tongue shyly meets mine, hesitantly probing my mouth and for some reason, her fumbling inexperience is fucking hot.

She tastes delectable. Wine, grapes and Anastasia Steele – a potent, heady mix of flavors. I fold my arms around her tightly, noting with relief that she grips my upper arms and shows no sign of moving them. One hand in her hair, holding her in place, I trail my other hand down her spine to her ass and push her against me, against my hardening erection. She moans again. I continue to kiss her, coaxing her unschooled tongue to explore my mouth, as I explore hers. Bravely she moves her hands up my arms – for a split second, I worry where she's going to touch me – she caresses my cheek then strokes my hair. This is beginning to unnerve me.

She twists her fingers in my hair, pulling gently... Christ, that feels good. I groan in response but can't let her continue. I push her towards and against the bed.

Before she can touch me again I drop to my knees. I want her out of these jeans – I want to unsettle her, keep her hands off me and arouse her yet more. I grasp her hips and run my tongue just north of the waistband of her jeans, up to her navel.

She gasps. Fuck, does she smell and taste good. Her hands fist in my hair once more, though this I don't mind — in fact I like it. I nip her hipbone and she groans.

I gaze up at her flushed face. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slack, and she's panting. She blinks and opens her eyes and we gaze at each other as I reach up and undo the button on her jeans. Very slowly I ease down the zipper and move my hands around her ass. Slipping my hands inside the waistband, my palms against the soft cheeks of her behind, I slide her jeans off.

And I can't stop myself. I want to shock her... I want to test her boundaries right now. Not taking my eyes off hers, I deliberately lick my lips, then lean forward and run my nose, inhaling her arousal, up the center of her panties. Closing my eyes I savor her. Christ, she smells enticing...

"You smell so good." Fuck, I need to get out of my jeans. I push her gently on to the bed and she falls backwards, her hair a wild halo around her. Grasping her right foot I make quick work of removing her sneaker and sock, and rub my thumbnail along her instep.

She writhes gratifyingly on the bed and gasps. She's watching me, fascinated. Leaning forward I run my tongue up her instep, following the little red welt that my thumbnail has left in its wake. She falls back on the bed, eyes closed, groaning loudly. I can't help but chuckle.

"Oh Ana... what I could do to you." I whisper as images of her writhing beneath me flit through my consciousness: in my playroom, strapped to my four-poster bed, to the table – to the cross. I could tease and torture her until she begged for release... the images make my jeans even fucking tighter. Fuck. I quickly remove her remaining shoe and sock, then stand and pull off her jeans. She's almost naked on my bed, her hair framing her face perfectly, her long, pale legs stretched out invitingly in front of me.

The thought that I've never fucked anyone in my bed comes unbidden to my mind... another first with Miss Steele, Grey. I have to make allowances for her inexperience.

She gazes up at me, panting. Wanting.

"You are very beautiful, Anastasia Steele. I can't wait to be inside you," I murmur. I want to tease her some more, find out what she does know.

"Show me how you pleasure yourself," I ask, gazing intently down at her.

She frowns. Fuck, I want to beat this shyness out of her.

"Don't be coy, Ana... show me," I whisper.

She shakes her head, blinking slightly. "I don't know what you mean."

"How do you make yourself come...? I want to see."

Her mouth forms the perfect 'o' again... but she's silent and shakes her head.

"I don't," she mutters breathlessly.

I gaze at her as I try and process her words. Fuck, even I used to masturbate, before Elena got hold of me. Shit! She's probably never had an orgasm. Fuck... her first fuck, her first orgasm – I'd better make this good.

"Oh... well... we'll have to see what we can do about that." I'm going to make you come like a fucking freight train, baby. Christ – she's probably never seen a naked man either. Not taking my eyes off hers I undo the top button on my jeans and ease them on to the floor. I can't risk taking my shirt off... but if she did touch me... it wouldn't be so bad... would it? Before I allow myself to be caught up in that hideous thought I lean down, and grasping her ankles, spread her legs.

Her eyes widen and her hands curl around my sheets. I crawl slowly up the bed, between her legs. She squirms.

"Keep still," I murmur and lean down to kiss the soft, pale skin of her inner thigh. I trail kisses up her thighs, over her panties, across her belly, nipping and sucking as I go. She writhes beneath me.

"We're going to have to work on keeping you still, baby." If you let me. I can teach you to just absorb the pleasure, and not move. Intensifying every touch, every kiss, every bite. The thought alone is enough to make me want to bury myself in her... but I want to know how responsive she is.

She hasn't held back. She's letting me have free rein over her body. She's not hesitated at all. The thought is gratifying. She wants this... she really fucking wants this too.

I dip my tongue into her navel then continue my leisurely journey north, savoring her. I shift, lying beside her, one leg still between hers. My hand ghosts up her body, over her hip, up her waist, on to her breast. Very gently I cup her breast, trying to gauge her reaction. She doesn't stiffen. She doesn't stop me... she trusts me. Can I extend her trust in me to let me have dominion over her body... over her? The idea is exhilarating.

"You fit my hand perfectly, Anastasia..." I dip my finger into the cup of her bra and jerk it down, freeing her breast. Her nipples are small, rose pink, and they're already hard. I pull the cup down so that the under-wire rests under her breast forcing it upwards. I repeat the process with the other cup and watch fascinated as her nipples grow under my steady gaze. Christ... I haven't even touched her yet.

"Very nice," I whisper appreciatively, and blow gently on the nearest nipple, watching in delight as it hardens and elongates.

Anastasia closes her eyes and arches her back. Keep still baby, just absorb the pleasure... it will feel so much more intense. Blowing on one nipple, I roll the other very gently between my thumb and forefinger. She grasps the sheets tightly... I lean down and suck – hard. Her body bows again and she cries out.

"Let's see if we can make you come like this." I whisper, and I don't stop.

Ana starts to whimper. Oh yes baby... feel this. Her nipples extend further and she starts grinding her hips, around and around. Keep still, baby... I will teach you to keep still.

"Oh...please..." she begs.

Her legs stiffen... it's working. She's close. I continue my lascivious assault. Concentrating on just these areas of her body is driving her and me to distraction. Christ, I want her...

"Let go, baby," I murmur, and pull her nipple with my teeth. She cries out as she comes... Yes! I move quickly to kiss her, taking her cries into my mouth. She's breathless and panting. Lost... mine. I own her first orgasm... I am ridiculously pleased by the thought.

"You are so responsive. You're going to have to learn to control that and it's going to be so much fun teaching you how." I can't wait for that... but right now, I want her. All of her. I kiss her once more and let my hand travel down her body, down to her sex. I hold her, feeling her heat. Slipping my index finger through the lace of her panties I slowly circle around her... fuck, she's soaking.

"You're so deliciously wet. God, I want you." I thrust my finger inside her, and she cries out. She's hot and tight, slick and wet. I groan low in my throat and thrust into her again, absorbing her cries into my mouth. I press my palm on her clitoris... pushing down... pushing around. She cries out and writhes beneath me. Fuck, I want her – now.

Sitting up I drag her panties off, then my boxers, and reach for a condom. I kneel up between her legs, pushing them further apart.

Anastasia gazes at me, with what...? Trepidation? She's probably never seen an erect penis before. Fuck...

"Don't worry. You expand too," I mutter. Stretching out over her I put my hands on either side of her head, taking my weight on my elbows. God, I want her... one final warning.

"You really want to do this?" I ask. For fuck's sake please don't say no.

"Please..." she begs.

"Pull your knees up," I order. This'll be easier. Christ, have I ever been so aroused? I can barely contain myself. I don't get it. It's her... why? Grey, focus! I position myself so I can take her at my whim, and gaze down at her. Her eyes are open wide, imploring me. She really wants this... as much as I do.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Miss Steele. Hard," I whisper, and with one final glance at her dark imploring expression I surrender and succumb to my overwhelming need to possess her. One thrust and I'm inside her. F. U. C. K.

I feel her convulse around me. She's so fucking tight.

She cries out. Fuck... I've hurt her. I want to move... to lose myself in her... it takes all my restraint to stop.

"You're so tight... You okay?" I gaze down at her anxiously and she nods quickly, her eyes wide. She feels like fucking heaven on earth. She's so tight around me. I have wanted her for so long. This desire, this... passion? It's such a new feeling. I want so much from her... her submission – I want her to be mine, but right now... I'm hers. Fuck.

I ease back slowly, and it's such an exquisite feeling... her, tight around my cock. Her beneath me... as I claim her body... knowing no one has before. Her trust in me – it's suddenly overwhelming, and I start to move... I want her to come. I will not stop until she comes. I want to own this woman. Want to feel her clenching around me.

Fuck – she starts meeting every thrust. Following my rhythm. This is bliss. See how well we fit together, Anastasia? I grasp her head, holding her in place while I claim her body, and kiss her hard, claiming her mouth. She stiffens beneath me... fuck yes. Her orgasm is close.

"Come for me, Ana," I whisper, and she cries out as she's consumed, tipping her head back, her mouth open, her eyes closed... and just the sight of her ecstasy is enough. I explode into her, losing all sense and reason, as I call out her name and come, violently, inside her.

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><p><strong>Note:<strong>

I will post every Monday until I'm finished. Why? Because I'm copy-typing the text word-for-word from a PDF, so I can't simply cut-n-paste the typescript. Therefore, I will type up as much as I can within the spare time I have each weekend, and post them on the following Monday.

**Up Next: **

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker—The Breakup.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker**

**The Breakup**

**Ana's POV**

"We're here because you said yes, Anastasia. And you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times and you will count with me."

Why the hell doesn't he just get on with it...? He always makes such a meal of punishing me... I roll my eyes, knowing full well he can't see me.

He lifts the hem of my bathrobe... and for some reason this feels more intimate than being naked. He gently caresses my behind, running his warm hand all over both cheeks and down to the tops of my thighs.

"I am doing this so that you remember not to run from me... and as exciting as it is... I never want you to run from me," he whispers.

And the irony is not lost on me... I was running to avoid this. If he'd opened his arms, I'd run to him... not away from him.

"And you rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that."

Suddenly it's gone... that nervous edgy fear in his voice... he's back from wherever he's been. I can feel it in his tone, in the way he places his fingers on my back, holding me – I can feel the atmosphere in the room change.

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow... and it comes hard, snapping across my backside, and the bite of the belt is everything I feared... I cry out, involuntarily, and take a huge gulp of air.

"Count, Anastasia!" he commands.

"One!" I shout at him and it sounds like an expletive.

He hits me again... and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the belt... holy shit... that hurts.

"Two!" I scream... if feels so good to scream.

I can hear his breathing... ragged, harsh. Whereas mine is almost non-existent as I desperately scramble around my psyche looking for some internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh again.

"Three!" Tears spring unwelcome into my eyes. Jeez – this is harder than I thought – so much harder than the spanking. He's not holding anything back.

"Four!" I yell as the belt bites me again, and now the tears are streaming down my face. I don't want to cry. It angers me that I am crying.

He hits me again.

"Five." My voice is more a choked strangled sob and in this moment I think I hate him. One more, I can do one more. My backside feels as if it's on fire...

**Christian's POV**

"Six," Ana whispers, her voice forced and hoarse.

I drop the belt, savoring the sweet, euphoric release. I feel punch drunk, breathless and finally replete. Oh, this beautiful girl, my beautiful girl. I want to kiss every inch of her body. I reach for her, pulling her into my arms.

"Let go. No – " And she struggles out of my grasp, scrambling away from me, pushing and shoving and finally turning on me like a seething wildcat.

"Don't touch me!" she hisses.

Her face is blotchy and smeared with tears, her nose is running and her hair is a shocking dark cloud around her, but she has never looked so magnificent... and at the same time so angry.

She's mad. Really mad. Okay, I hadn't figured on anger... give her a moment. She furiously dashes away her tears with the back of hands, glaring at me.

"This is what you really like? Me, like this?" She wipes her nose with the sleeve of the bathrobe.

I blink at her, bemused, completely helpless and paralyzed by her reaction. The crying I know, I understand, but this anger, this rage – though it resonates with me on some level that I don't want to think about right now – I just don't comprehend. Why didn't she ask me to stop? She didn't safe-word. She deserved to be punished. She ran from me. She rolled her eyes. This is it – this is what happens when you defy me, baby. But my momentary euphoria has vanished, evaporated, because of the appalled raging hurt I can see in her beautiful blue eyes.

Shit! What I have I done? It's sobering. I'm balanced on a precipice, teetering at the edge of a dark yawning chasm. I gaze at her, desperately searching for the words to make this right, and my mind is blank.

"Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch," she snaps. All the breath leaves my body, and it's like she's whipped me with a belt... Fuck!

"Ana," I whisper, pleading with her. I want her to stop. I want to hold her and make the pain go away. I want her to sob in my arms.

"Don't you dare Ana me! You need to sort your shit out, Grey!" she snarls at me. And she strides past me, out of the playroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. I stare at the closed door, her words ringing in my ears. _You are one fucked-up son of a bitch_. Sort your shit out!

No-one has ever walked out on me... What the fuck? Mechanically I run my hand through my hair trying to rationalize her reaction, and mine. I just let her go... I'm not mad... I'm... what?

I stoop to pick up the belt, walk to the wall and hang it on its peg. That was, without doubt, one of the most satisfying, fulfilling moments in my life. I feel lighter, a weight lifted, that doubt between us gone. It's done. We're there. Now that she knows what's involved, we can move on. Adapt that fucking contract.

Then why do I feel such a sense of unease? Her reaction... the image of her injured, haunted look, is back, unwelcome, in my mind's eye. It's unsettling. I am used to seeing women cry – it's what I do. But Ana... Maybe it's because she hasn't signed on the dotted line. I sink to the floor and lean my head against the wall, my arms on my bent knees. Just let her cry. She'll feel better for crying. Women do, in my experience. Give her a moment, then go and offer her some aftercare. She didn't safe-word. She asked me. She wanted to know, curious as ever. It's just been a rude awakening, that's all. _You are one fucked-up son of a bitch._

Closing my eyes, I smile wryly. Yes, Ana, yes I am, and now you know. Now we can move forward with our... relationship, arrangement. Whatever this is.

My thoughts don't comfort me. I feel the sense of unease spawning, deep down, obliterating the short-lived euphoria. Her blue eyes glaring at me, outraged, accusatory... pitying... as if the scales have finally fallen from her eyes and she can see me for the monster that I am. Flynn springs to mind. _Don't dwell on the negative, Christian._

I close my eyes once more. Her lovely wounded face dances through my mind. What a fool I am. This was too soon. I'll reassure her. Yes. Let her cry, then reassure her. I was angry with her for running from me. Why did she do that? Hell, it was exciting though. And I'm angry with Leila. Where the fuck is she? What the fuck is she doing?

I stand up. I need to face Ana, hold her – we'll get through this. I wonder where she is. Shit! Panic seizes me. Suppose she's gone? No – she wouldn't do that. Not without saying goodbye, surely.

I tear down the stairs. She's not in the living room... She must be in bed. I dash to my bedroom.

The bed is empty... shit! Anxiety blooms in the pit of my belly. No – she can't have gone! Upstairs... I take the stairs three at a time and pause, breathless, outside her bedroom, relief flooding through me. I can hear her soft cries. I lean my head against the door, overwhelmed by my relief. Shit... I realize in this moment how horrific the thought of her leaving is. Of course... she just needs to cry.

Taking a steadying breath, I turn and head to the bathroom beside the playroom to fetch some arnica cream, Advil and a glass of water. I take a deep breath and head into Ana's room. It's still dark, though dawn is a whisper in the sky, and it takes me a moment to find my beautiful girl.

She's curled up in the middle of the bed. She looks so small.

I feel winded, gazing at her as she sobs softly. The sound of her grief rips through me. I don't understand. My subs never affected me like this – even when they were bawling. I don't get it. Putting down the arnica, water and tablets I lift the duvet and slide in beside her.

I just don't get it... why do I feel so fucking lost? I reach for her and she stiffens, her whole body screaming, don't touch me!

"Hush," I breathe to calm her, in a vain attempt to halt her tears. She doesn't respond. She remains frozen, unyielding.

"Don't fight me Ana, please," I whisper, and she relaxes slightly, letting me pull her into my arms and bury my nose in her wonderfully fragrant hair. She smells as intoxicating as ever, her sweet scent such a soothing balm to my nerves. And because her neck is exposed, I kiss her gently.

"Don't hate me," I plead, as I run my lips down her smooth white throat, tasting her. She says nothing, but slowly her crying dissipates into soft sniffling sobs. Finally she's quiet. I think she might have fallen asleep, but I cannot bring myself to move and check in case I disturb her. At least she's calmer now.

Dawn comes and goes, and the soft light gets brighter, intruding into the room as morning moves on and still, we lie quietly.

She moves, a slight twitch in her feet, and I know she's awake.

"I bought you some Advil and some arnica cream," I murmur, and finally she responds, turning slowly in my arms to face me. Pain-riven blue eyes focus on mine, her look intense, questioning. She takes her time to really scrutinize me. It's unnerving because I have, as usual, no idea what she's thinking. She's definitely calmer and I feel a small spark of relief. Today might be a good day after all.

She reaches up to caress my cheek, running her fingers along my jaw line, tickling my stubble. I close my eyes, savoring her touch. It's still so new, this sensation, enjoying her innocent little fingers gently stroking my face.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her softly-spoken words surprise and puzzle me. She's apologizing to me? Why? For running, for eye-rolling?

"What for?"

"What I said."

I can feel the relief coursing through my body. She's forgiven me. Besides, what she said in anger was right. I am a fucked-up son of a bitch.

"You didn't tell me anything I didn't know." And for the first time in so many years I find myself apologizing.

"I am sorry I hurt you."

She shrugs almost nonchalantly. I've won a reprieve. We're safe. We're okay. "I asked for it."

I feel like snorting, with relieved agreement. You sure did, baby. She swallows nervously.

"I don't think I can be everything you want me to be," she whispers, her eyes wide with heartfelt sincerity.

The world stops. Fuck... We're not safe at all. Grey, make this right.

"You are everything I want you to be."

Her brow furrows, creating the small 'v' above her nose. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she's so pale- the palest I've ever seen her. It stirs me.

"I don't understand," she whispers. "I'm not obedient, and you can be as sure as hell I'm not going to let you do that to me again. And that's what you need – you said so."

And there it is ... her coup de grace. Fuck. I pushed too far. Now she knows – and all the arguments I had with myself before I embarked on my pursuit of this girl flood back to me. She's not into the lifestyle. How can I corrupt her this way?

She's too young, too innocent, too Ana. Fuck. I close my eyes – I can't bear to look at her. She would be better off without me. Now that she's seen the monster, she knows she can't contend with him. I have to free her – let her go her own way. She's right, this won't work between us. Focus, Grey.

"You're right. I should let you go. I am no good for you." Her eyes widen and if it's possible she looks even paler.

"I don't want to go," she whispers. Tears pool in her eyes, glistening on her long dark lashes.

"I don't want you to go either," I murmur, because it's the truth. The tears trickle down her cheeks once more. Gently I wipe away a falling tear with my thumb, and before I know it the words are out...

"I've come alive since I met you." I trace my thumb along her bottom lip. I want to kiss her, hard. Make her forget. Dazzle her. Arouse her – I know I can. But something holds me back. The wary, scared look in her daunted eyes. Why would she want to be kissed by a monster? She might push me away... and I don't know if I can deal with any more rejection. Her words haunt me... pulling at some dark forgotten memory. _You are one fucked-up son of a bitch. _

"Me too," she whispers. "I've fallen in love with you, Christian."

I remember Carrick teaching me to dive. My toes curled around the edge of the pool and I fell arching into the water... and now I'm falling once more... into the abyss. There's no way she can feel that about me. Not me. No! It's like she's strangling me with those words – those seven words leave me choking for air. I can't hear them. I can't deal with them. She doesn't know what she's talking about, who she's dealing with – what she's dealing with.

"No." I can hear the raw disbelief in my voice. "You can't love me, Ana... no. That's wrong."

I need to set her right on this. She cannot love a monster. She needs to go. She needs out – and in an instant everything becomes blindingly clear. This is my Eureka moment – I can't make her happy. I can't be what she needs. I can't let this go on. This has to finish. It should never have started.

"Wrong? Why's it wrong?"

"Well, look at you. I can't make you happy." I can hear the anguish in my voice as I sink deeper and deeper into the dark of the abyss, shrouded in despair. "But you do make me happy," she says frowning, not comprehending. Anastasia Steele, baby, look at yourself. I have to be honest with her.

"Not at the moment. Not doing what I want to do." She blinks at me, her long lashes batting over her large, wounded eyes, studying me intently, searching for answers.

"We'll never get past that, will we?" she whispers after a moment. I shake my head because I can't think of anything else to say. It comes down to incompatibility... again. She closes her eyes as if in pain. And when she opens them again, they are clear, full of resolve. Her tears have dried. And I can feel the blood pounding through my head. Fuck, my heart is working overtime. I know what she's going to say. I dread what she's going to say.

"Well I'd better go, then," she murmurs and winces as she sits up. Now? She can't go now.

"No, don't go." I am free-falling, deeper and deeper. Her leaving feels like a monumental mistake. My mistake. But she can't stay if she feels this way about me, she just can't.

"There's no point in me staying," she says sadly and slowly clambers out of the bed. She's really fucking going – I can't believe it. I scramble out of bed to stop her. But her look halts me in my tracks – her expression is so bleak, so cold, so distant. Not my Anastasia at all.

"I'm going to get dressed. I'd like some privacy," she says. How flat and empty her voice sounds as she turns and leaves, shutting the door gently behind her. I gape at the closed door, lost. This is the second time she's walked out on me in one day.

I put my head in my hands, trying to calm myself, trying to rationalize my feelings.

She loves me? I can barely think the words, they're so alien and repugnant to me. How? How? How did this happen?

Grey, you fucking fool. Wasn't this always a risk with someone like her? Someone so good, someone so innocent, someone so... courageous. That she'd not see the real me until it was too late... that I would make her suffer – like this?.

I feel like I've punctured a lung. Christ, why is this so fucking painful? I follow her out of the door. She might want privacy, but if she's leaving me I need to be dressed.

She's in the shower when I reach my room. Quickly I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, noting wryly that they are black – very suitable for my mood. Grabbing my Blackberry I wander disconsolately into my living room, tempted to sit at the piano and hammer out some woeful lament. But I just stand in the middle of the room feeling vacant. Focus, Grey! This is the right decision. Let her go.

My Blackberry buzzes. It's Welch. Has he found Leila?

"Welch," I snap.

"Mr Grey, I have news," his voice rasps down the phone. Christ, this guy should stop smoking. He sounds like Deep Throat.

"You found her?" My spirits lift a little.

"No, Sir."

"What is it then?" Why the fuck have you called?

"Leila left her husband. He finally admitted it to me – he's washed his hands of her." This is news. I knew she'd married. But she said nothing about having left her husband to the psych or to Gail when she was admitted to hospital.

"I see."

"He has an idea where she might be – but he wants his palm greased. Wants to know who's so interested in his wife. Though that's not what he called her."

Anger surges through me.

"How much does he want?"

"He said a couple of grand."

"He said what?" I shout. That fucker – I knew it! Why didn't he just admit earlier that Leila had walked out on him?

"Well, he could have told us the fucking truth. What's his number, I need to call him. Welch, this is a real fuck-up."

I glance up, and Ana is standing awkwardly at the entrance of the living room, gazing at me. She's dressed in jeans and an ugly sweat top. Pale as fuck, all big blue eyes and tight, pinched face, her suitcase beside her.

"Find her," I snap, hanging up. I'll deal with Welch later.

Ana walks purposefully over to the couch and from her backpack removes the Mac, her Blackberry, and the key to her car. Taking a deep breath she strides to the kitchen and lays all three items on the breakfast bar.

Christ, she's returning her things. She turns to face me, determination clear on her small ashen face. Her stubborn look, I know it well.

"I need the money that Taylor got for my car." Her voice is small and calm, a monotone. Fuck! I can't believe she's giving them back to me.

"Ana, I don't want those things – they're yours," I mutter in disbelief. She can't do this to me. "Please, take them."

"No Christian. I only accepted them under sufferance, and I don't want them anymore."

"Ana, be reasonable!" I snap at her.

"I don't want anything that will remind me of you. I need a clean break. And I need the money that Taylor got for my car." Her voice is devoid of emotion. She wants to forget me. Fuck... pain sears through me, like she's punched a hole in my gut. I gasp at its intensity.

"Are you really trying to wound me?"

"No, I am not. I am trying to protect myself." She whispers blinking at me and suddenly radiating anxiety. Of course – she's trying to protect herself from the monster.

"Please Ana, take that stuff." Her lips are so pale.

"Christian, I don't want to fight – I just need that money." Her voice is steady. How can she be so calm? Rage courses through me. Money... it always comes down to the fucking money.

"Will you take a check?" I hiss at her.

"Yes. I think you're good for it."

I scowl at her. She wants fucking money, I'll give her money. I stalk angrily into my study and sitting at my desk take out my checkbook. I quickly scrawl a check. I'm so fucking angry in this moment. I double the amount that Taylor got for the fucking death trap and stuff the check into an envelope. I buzz Taylor. He answers immediately.

"Mr Grey."

"Will you take Miss Steele home?" I snarl.

"Sir." He acquiesces immediately, as I knew he would.

When I return she's still standing by the kitchen island lost, almost childlike. I hand her the envelope, my anger evaporating at the sight of her.

"Taylor got a good price, it's a classic," I mumble apologetically. "You can ask him. He'll take you home." I nod to where Taylor is waiting in the entrance of the living room.

"That's fine, I can get myself home, thank you."

No! Accept the fucking ride Ana. Why does she do this?

"Are you going to defy me at every turn?" "Why change the habit of a lifetime?" she shrugs, mumbling apologetically.

That's it in a nutshell why our arrangement was doomed from the start. She's just not cut out for this and deep, deep down, I always knew it. I close my eyes. I am such a fucking fool. I try a softer approach, pleading with her.

"Please, Ana. Let Taylor take you home."

"I'll get the car, Miss Steele," Taylor announces authoritatively.

I nod at him. Maybe she'll listen to him.

She glances around, but he's gone, down to the basement to fetch the Audi. She turns back to me, her eyes wider all of a sudden.

I hold my breath. I really can't believe she's going. This is the last time I'll see her and she looks so sad. It cuts through me that I'm responsible for that look. I step forward. I want to hold her one more time, plead with her to stay.

And she slices through me once more by stepping back. I stop in my tracks. She doesn't want me. I have driven her away.

"I don't want you to go," I murmur.

"I can't stay. I know what I want and you can't give it to me, and I can't give you what you need."

Oh please, Ana – let me hold you one more time. Smell your sweet, sweet scent. Feel you in my arms. I step towards her again. But she holds up her hands, halting me.

"Don't – please." She recoils, panic etched on her face. Yes. She should recoil from me. "I can't do this," she mutters.

She grabs her suitcase and her backpack and heads for the foyer. I follow meekly and helplessly in her wake, my eyes fixed on her small retreating figure.

In the foyer I call the elevator. I can't take my eyes off her... her small elfin face, those lips, the way her dark lashes fan out and cast a shadow over her pale, pale cheeks.

Words fail me as I try to memorize every detail of her lovely face. I have no dazzling lines, no quick wit, no arrogant commands. I have nothing, nothing but an enormous void yawning in my gut. The doors open and Ana heads straight in. She glances around at me – and for a moment her mask slips, and I can see my pain reflected on her beautiful face. No... Ana... Don't Go.

"Goodbye, Christian," she murmurs.

"Ana, goodbye," I whisper. The doors close and she's gone. I sink slowly to the floor and put my head in my hands.

The void is now cavernous and aching, overwhelming me. Grey... what the fuck have you done?

I gaze up at the paintings, my Madonnas. They bring a mirthless smile to my lips, the idealization of motherhood. All of them gazing at their infants or staring inauspiciously down at me.

Yes, be inauspicious. I've just let the best thing that ever happened to me walk out of my life. She's gone. She's really fucking gone. I can't believe it. When she said she'd never leave... she promised me she'd never leave. I close my eyes, cutting out those pitying stares, and tip my head back against the wall. Okay, she said it in her sleep – and like the fucking fool I am, I believed her. But this is for the best. I've always known deep down I was no good for her, and she was too good for me. Why do I feel like shit... why is this so fucking painful?

The ping of the elevator's arrival forces my eyes open again as my heart leaps into my mouth... She's back. I sit paralyzed. Taylor steps out and freezes, gazing down at me. He recovers himself almost immediately. Shit. How long have I been sitting here?

"Miss Steele is home, Mr Grey," he says, as if he addresses me while I'm prostrate on the floor everyday.

"How was she?" I mutter dispassionately, although I really want to know.

"Upset, sir," he says, showing no emotion whatsoever. I nod, dismissing him. But he doesn't leave.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" he asks, much too kindly for my liking.

"No." Go... leave me the fuck alone.

"Sir," he says, and he leaves me slouched on my foyer floor.

Much as I'd like to sit here all day and wallow in my despair, I can't. I want an update from Welch and I need to call Leila's fucker of a husband. And I need a shower. Perhaps this agonized feeling will wash away in the shower.

As I stand, I touch the wooden table that dominates the foyer, my fingers absentmindedly running over its exquisitely delicate marquetry. I'd have liked to fuck Miss Steele over this. I close my eyes, seeing her sprawled over this table, her head held back, chin up, mouth open in ecstasy, and her luscious hair spilling over the edge. Shit, it makes me hard just thinking about it... fuck. The pain in my gut twists and tightens. She's gone, Grey. Get used to it. And drawing on years of enforced control I bring my body to heel.

The shower is blistering, the temperature just a notch below painful, the way I like it. I stand beneath the cascade trying to forget her, hoping this heat will scorch her out of my head, wash her scent off my body. If she's going to leave, there's no coming back. Never. I scrub my hair with grim determination. She's going to fuck off, then that's it. Good riddance. And I gasp, feeling another swift kick to my gut. No. Not good riddance. I raise my face to the streaming water. I am going to miss her. It's not good riddance at all. I lean my forehead against the tiles. Just last night she was in here with me.

I stare at my hands, my fingers unconsciously caressing the line of grout in the tiles where only yesterday her hands were braced against the wall. Fuck this.

Switching off the water I step out of the shower. As I wrap a towel around my waist, a distressing thought occurs to me: each day will be darker and longer, because she's no longer in it. No more facetious, witty emails. No more of her smart mouth. No more curiosity. Her beautiful blue eyes will no longer gaze at me in thinly veiled amusement... or shock... or lust... I stare at the ashen-faced jerk staring back at me in the bathroom mirror.

"What the fuck have you done, asshole?" I sneer at him. He mouths the words back at me with vitriolic contempt. And then the fucker blinks at me, big grey eyes filled with ill- concealed raw misery.

"She's better off without you. You can't be what she wants. You can't give her what she needs. She wants hearts and flowers. She deserves better than you. You fucked-up prick." I turn away from the mirror, repulsed by the image glowering back at me, and head into my bedroom to dry off. Fuck shaving for today.

Heading over to my chest of drawers I pull out underwear and a clean t-shirt. As I turn I notice a small box on my pillow. Oh fuck. The rug is pulled from under me again, revealing once more the abyss gaping beneath – its large jaws waiting for me, longing for me – and my anger turns to fear.

It's something from her. What would she give me? I drop my clothes and, taking a deep breath, sit on the bed and pick up the box. It's a glider. A model-making kit for a Blanik L23. A scribbled note falls from the top of the box, wafting on to the bed.

**_This reminded me of a happy time. Thank you. Ana_**

Oh fuck... the perfect present from the perfect girl. Pain lances through me. Christ, it's indescribable. I double over, disemboweled. She's really fucking gone... leaving me this little glider. Why is this so painful? Why? Am I sick? I don't understand, why do I feel this way?

Some long-lost, distant ugly memory stirs and summons me, trying to sink its teeth into the here and now. No – that is not a place I want my mind to return to. I get up, tossing the box on the bed, and dress hurriedly. When I'm finished I grab the box and the note and head for my study. I will handle this better from the seat of fucking power.

My conversation with Welch is brief. My conversation with the miserable lying bastard who married Leila one drunken weekend in Vegas is briefer. His name is Bradley Walker. Their marriage survived eighteen months, but she left him three months ago. So where are you now, Leila Williams? What are you doing?

I try and concentrate on Leila Walker, nee Williams, trying to think of some clue from our past that might tell me where she is. Attempting suicide in my living room was one very loud message for me. I need to know where she is. I need to know she's safe. I need to know why. Why here? Why me? She wanted more and I didn't, but that was long ago.

It was easy when she left – our arrangement was terminated by mutual consent. In fact the whole arrangement had been exemplary in terms of mutual consent... how it should be. She was mischievous when she was with me, deliberately so... not the broken creature Gail described. Why didn't that moronic psych see that? Involuntarily I recall how much she enjoyed our sessions in the playroom. She loved all that shit – she was a great submissive.

An unsettling memory surfaces from our mutual past – me tying her big toes together, turning her feet in so she couldn't clench her backside and avoid the pain... yeah, she loved all that shit, and so did I. Yet in spite of this, in all our time together, she never captured my attention like Anastasia Steele. She never drove me to distraction like Ana.

I gaze at the boxed glider kit on my desk. Absently my finger traces all the edges, knowing that Ana's fingers and hands have touched them. My sweet Anastasia... what a contrast you are to all the women I've known. The only woman I've ever chased. The one woman who can't give me what I want. My brow creases... I just don't understand. I feel more for Ana than I've ever felt for anyone, yet I've known her for such a short time. I've come alive since I've known her, as if I've woken from a deep dark slumber. These last few weeks have been the most exciting, the most unpredictable, the most fascinating in my life. I feel like I've been reborn... enticed from my stark monochrome world to one emblazoned with rich color. She's under my skin like no one before – and yet she can't be what I need.

I put my head in my hands. She will never like what I do. I tried to kid myself that we could work up to the rougher shit, but it's not going to happen, ever. She's better off without me. What would she want with a fucked-up monster who can't bear to be touched?

And yet... and yet... she bought me this thoughtful gift. I gaze once more at the box. When was last time anyone who wasn't family did that? I open it. All the plastic parts of the craft stuck on one grid, shrouded in polythene... memories of her squealing in the glider during the wingover come to mind, her hands up, hitting the Perspex cockpit. I can't help my fond smile. Christ that was fun – the equivalent of pulling her pigtails in the playgaround. Ana in pigtails... I shut down that thought immediately. I don't want to go there. Our first bath...

And my remaining thought is that I won't see her again. And once more I feel like my life's blood has been sucked away, and I teeter on the edge of the abyss again.

I need to make this plane. It will give me something to focus on. Ripping open the polythene bag I quickly scan the build instructions. I need glue, modeling glue. I search quickly through my desk drawers. Shit... nestled at the back I find the red leather box holding the Cartier earrings I bought for her, for tonight. Fuck... I never got the chance to give them to her – and now I never will. The thought knocks a larger hole in my gut. Fuck.

I call Andrea and leave a message on her cell asking her to cancel tonight. No way can I face the annual Chamber of Commerce Gala shindig, not without my date... my first date.

I open the red leather box and examine the earrings once more. They are beautiful.

Simple yet elegant, just like the enchanting Miss Steele... who left me this morning because I punished her. Because I pushed too hard, and she let me. I put my head in my hands. She let me because she... I can barely think the word... she loves me. The thought is nauseating, and I dismiss it immediately. She can't. It's simple. No-one could feel like that about me.

Not if they know me. Move on, Grey, focus. Where's the fucking glue? I put the earrings back in my drawer and continue my search. Nothing. Why the fuck would you have modeling glue, Grey?

I buzz Taylor. "Mr Grey?"

"I need some modeling glue."

"For what sort of model, sir?" "A kid's model glider."

"Balsa wood or plastic?"

"Plastic."

"I have some. I'll bring it down now, sir."

"Thank you," I mutter, stunned that Taylor has modeling glue. What the hell for?

Moments later he knocks on the door.

"Come in."

He strides into my study and places the small plastic pot on my desk. He doesn't leave. I glance up at him, and I have to ask.

"Why do you have this?"

"I build the odd plane." Taylor actually flushes.

"Oh?" In spite of my wretchedness my curiosity is piqued.

"Flying was my first love, sir."

I frown at him.

"Color blind," he adds, flatly.

I nod.

"So, it was the Marines?"

"Sir."

"Thank you for this."

"No problem, Mr Grey. Have you eaten?"

His question takes me by surprise.

"I'm not hungry, Taylor. Please, go enjoy the afternoon with your daughter, and I'll see you tomorrow. I won't bother you again."

He hesitates. I gaze up at him, my blood heating with anger.

"I'm good." Shit, my voice is raw.

"Sir," he nods. "I'll return tomorrow evening."

I give him a quick dismissive nod, and he's gone. When was the last time Taylor offered me anything to eat? Shit... I must look more fucked-up than I thought. Sullenly I grab the pot of glue.

I place the glider in the palm of my hand, gazing at it fondly, memories of that flight nudging my consciousness. Anastasia was impossible to wake – I smile as I recall – and once up she was... difficult, and beautiful, and funny, with her smart mouth. I smirk at her horror on finding the crap Leila put on my iPod. Christ that was amusing. Then her innocent girlish excitement during the flight, the squealing, and afterwards, our kiss. My first conscious outward expression of more. I snort. Apart, of course, from flying all the way to humid, sticky Georgia in the first place... I just wanted to see her. It's extraordinary that over such a short time I have so many happy memories to explore – in sharp contrast to now. The yawning ache is still very much in place, nagging me, making me hyper-aware of what I've lost.

Focus on the glider, Grey. I have the transfers to stick in place now. The transfers are fiddly little suckers, but finally the last one is on and drying. I glance up – the light is fading. Christ it's late. My initial thought is that I can show this to Ana when reality comes crashing down around me. No more Ana. I clench my teeth as I stretch my stiff shoulders. I stand slowly and realize I have not eaten all day, or had anything to drink, and my head is throbbing. I feel like shit.

I check my Blackberry in the hope that she's called, but there's only a text from Andrea.

***CC Gala canx. Hope all well. A***

Weirdly, while I'm reading Andrea's message, the Blackberry buzzes. My heart rate immediately spikes, then falls. It's Elena.

"Hello," I mutter, not disguising my disappointment.

"Christian, is that any way to say hi? What's eating you?" she scolds, but her voice is full of humor. I gaze out of the window. It's dusk over Seattle. I wonder briefly what Sweet Anastasia is doing. I don't want to tell Elena my latest news. I don't want to say the words out loud and make them a reality.

"Christian? What gives? Tell me." Her tone shifts to brusque and annoyed.

"She left me," I mutter morosely after another too-long pause. "Oh." Elena sounds surprised.

"Want me to come over?"

"No." She takes a deep breath.

"This life isn't for everyone."

"I know."

"Hell Christian, you sound like shit. Do you want to go out to dinner?"

"No."

"I'm coming over."

"No Elena. I'm not good company. I'm tired and I want to be alone. I'll call during the week."

"Christian... it's for the best."

"I know. Goodbye." I hang up. I don't want to talk to her. She was the one who encouraged me to fly down to Georgia. Perhaps she knew this day would come. I scowl at the phone, toss it on to my desk and go in search of something to drink and eat.

I gaze up at the bedroom ceiling. I cannot sleep. I am engulfed in her sweet fragrance that still clings to my bedsheets. I have pulled her pillow over my face to breathe in her lingering scent. It's torture, it's heaven... and for a moment I contemplate my death by suffocation. Dying with her scent filling my nostrils, filling my head, filling the empty raging hole in my gut... filling what's left of my shattered soul. Fuck off, Grey.

I mentally rerun the morning's events, wondering if they could have played out differently. Normally I hate doing this, because it's such a waste of energy, but today... I'm just looking for clues as to where I went wrong. And no matter how I play it out in my head, I know in my bones we would have reached this impasse – whether it was this morning, or in a week, a month, or a year. It's better that it happened now before I could inflict any further damage on Anastasia.

I think of her huddled in her little white bed. I can't picture her in the new apartment – I've not been there – but in her room in Vancouver where I slept with her once. I shake my head. The best fucking night's sleep I had in years. I've been sleeping well recently... another first. I glance at the radio alarm. It's one in the morning. I have lain here for three hours, my mind churning. I take a deep breath, her scent still evident, and I close my eyes...

He's come back. Mommy's asleep... or sick... I hide and curl up small under the table in the Kitchen. Through my fingers I can see Mommy. She is asleep on the couch. Her hand is on the sticky green rug and he's wearing his big boots with the shiny buckle and standing over Mommy shouting. He hits Mommy with a belt. _Get Up! Get Up! You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked- up bitch._ Mommy makes a noise. Stop. Mommy doesn't scream. Mommy curls up small. I have my fingers in my ears and I close my eyes. The sound stops. He turns and I can see his boots as he stomps into the kitchen. He still has the belt. He is trying to find me. He stoops down and grins at me. He smells nasty. Of cigarettes and drink. _There you are you little shit._

A chilling wail wakes me, and I'm drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. What the fuck? I sit bolt upright in bed. Fuck. They're back. The noise was me. I take a deep steadying breath, trying to rid my mind of the smell of cheap bourbon and stale Camel cigarettes.

I glance at the clock. It's three-thirty. I head into the kitchen and after sinking a large glass of water I sit down at the piano.

I wake again with a jolt and it's light – bright early morning sunshine filling the room. Shit... I was dreaming of Ana. Ana kissing me, her tongue in my mouth, my fingers in her hair... pressing her delectable body against me... her hands tethered above her head. Where is she? For one sweet moment I forget all that transpired yesterday... then it floods back to me. Fuck. She's gone. I groan as the evidence of my desire presses into the mattress... but the memory of her beautiful eyes, clouded with hurt and humiliation as she left, soon solves that problem.

I still feel like shit. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, arms behind my head.

The day stretches out before me and for the first time in... years – I don't know what to do with myself. I check the time... just after 6:00. I decide to go for a run.

Prokofiev's arrival of the Montagues and Capulets blares in my ears as I pound the sidewalk through the early morning quiet of 4th Avenue. I ache everywhere, my lungs are bursting, my head throbbing, and the yawning dull ache of loss eats away at my inside.

Fuck it – I cannot run from this pain, though I am going to try. I stop to change the music. I want something... violent. Pump It, by the Black Eyed Peas, yeah... I pick up the pace.

Unconsciously I find myself running towards Pike Place Market... and I know it's insane, but I hope to see her. As I near her street my heart races harder and my anxiety increases. I am desperate to see her. I try and convince myself I just want to check she's okay. But that's not true. I want to see her. I turn into her street and pace past her apartment building.

All is quiet – an Oldsmobile trundles down the road, two dog walkers are out – but there's no sign of any life from within her apartment. Crossing the street I pause on the sidewalk opposite, catching my breath while I loiter in the doorway of an office building.

The curtains of one room are closed. The others are open. Perhaps that's her room. Maybe she's still asleep – if she's there at all. A nightmare scenario forms in my mind... she went out last night, got drunk, met someone... Fuck. I feel nauseous. The thought of her beautiful body in someone else's hands, some fucker basking in the warmth of her smile, making her giggle, making her laugh... making her come. It takes all my self-control not to go barging through the front door of her apartment to check she's there and on her own.

You brought this on yourself, Grey. Forget her. She's not for you. I tug my Mariners cap low over my face and head on down 1st Avenue.

So this is what jealousy feels like... it violently fills the gaping hole. I hate it – it stirs something deep in my psyche that I really don't want to examine. I run harder, away from that memory, away from the pain and away from Anastasia Steel.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

Please disregard my previous posting schedule. I'm going to type like a manic and finish this as soon as possible. If I were the one reading/following this post, I would have a conniption if I had to wait seven days for each intermittent chapter.

**Next Update: **

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker—The Breakup continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker**

**The Breakup continued…**

**Christian's POV**

It's dusk over Seattle. I stand up and stretch. I've been at my desk all day, and it's been productive. I have checked through the due diligence papers, the business plan and the draft contract for Seattle Independent Publishing. I can shelve the other two – this is the one I want. I'll be able to keep an eye on her... The thought is painful and appealing in equal measure.

I've read and commented on two patent applications, four contracts and two design specs, and lost in the detail of those I have not thought about her... although the ache of loss remains. I glance at the little glider that's still on my desk, taunting me, reminding me of happier times... like she said. I picture her standing in the doorway to my office in one of my t-shirts, all long naked legs and big blue eyes, just before she went to Georgia... when she seduced me in my office. Another first.

I miss her. There – I admit it. I check my Blackberry... nothing. No missed calls.

The nagging pain in my gut expands, clawing at the boundaries of the raging empty hole in my insides. She won't call me. She wanted a clean break. She wanted to get away from me, and I can't blame her. It's for the best. Wearily I head to the kitchen for something to eat. Gail is back. The kitchen has been cleaned and there's a pot on the stove. Smells good... but I'm not hungry. She walks in while I am eyeing what's in the pot.

"Good evening, sir."

"Gail." She pauses, blinking at me – surprised by something. Shit, I must look bad.

"Chicken Chasseur?" she asks uncertainly, and I can see her scrutinizing my face in a way she doesn't normally.

"Sure," I mutter.

"For two?" she asks tentatively.

I glare at her, and she stills and blanches.

"For one."

"Ten minutes?" she says, her voice wavering.

"Fine." I turn to leave.

"Mr Grey...?" She gazes at me and flushes under my stare.

"What, Gail?" Even to my own ears my voice is frigid.

"It's nothing. Sorry to disturb you." She heads to the pot on the stove to stir the contents and I stalk off to have another shower. Christ... even my fucking staff have noticed something's rotten in the state of fucking Denmark.

I dread going to bed. It's late, and I'm tired, but I play the Bach Marcello piece over and over again. Remembering yesterday morning, her head resting on my shoulder, I can almost smell her sweet unique Ana fragrance. I had woken early and couldn't get back to sleep, because I was worried about Leila and angry that she'd absconded. But I was so full of hope for Ana and me. Our previous evening in the playroom had been... beyond all my expectations. Yes... the Tallis. My libido remembers it all too well. The blood in my body thickens and briefly obscures the aching hole in my gut. But I halt my arousal in its tracks.

The memory of Ana's detached, bleak look when she left is enough to extinguish any sexual yearning.

For fuck's sake, she said she'd try! I stop playing and put my head in my hands, my elbows hammering out two discordant chords as I lean on the keys. She said she'd try, but she fell at the first hurdle. Then she ran. Why the fuck did I hit her so hard? But deep inside I know the answer – because she asked me, and I was too impetuous and selfish, and seduced by her challenge, to resist the temptation. She threw down the gauntlet and I seized the opportunity to move us on... move on to where I wanted us to be. And she didn't safe-word, and I hurt her more than she could take – when I promised her I'd never do that.

What a fucking fool I am. How could she ever trust me after that? It's right she's gone. Why the hell would she want to be with me?

I contemplate getting drunk. I have not been drunk since I was fifteen – well, once, when I was twenty-one. I fear the loss of control. I know what alcohol can do to a man... I shudder involuntarily as I snap my mind shut to those memories and decide to call it a night.

As I gaze up at the ceiling I pray for a dreamless sleep... but if I am to dream, I want to dream of her.

Mommy is pretty today. She sits down and lets me brush her hair. She looks at me in the mirror and she smiles her special smile. Her special smile for me. There is a loud noise. A crash. He's back. No! _Where the fuck are you, bitch? Got a friend in need here. A friend with cash._ Mommy stands and takes my hand and pushes me into her closet. No, Mommy. I don't like the dark. I sit on her shoes and try to be quiet and cover my ears and close my eyes tight shut. The clothes smell of Mommy. I like the smell. He is shouting. _Where is the little fucking runt?_ He has my hair and he pulls me out of the closet. _Don't want you spoiling the party you little shit._ He slaps Mommy hard around her face. _Make it good for my friend and you get your fix bitch._ Mommy looks at me and she has tears. Don't cry Mommy. Another man comes into the room. A big man with dirty hair. The big man smiles at Mommy. I am pulled into the other room. He pushes me on to the floor and I hurt my knees. _Now what am I going to do with you, you piece of shit?_ He smells nasty. He smells of beer and he is smoking a cigarette.

I wake. Fuck. Fuck. My heart is flying like I've run 40 blocks, chased by the hounds of hell. Fuck. I vault out of bed, pushing the vivid nightmare back into the dark recesses of my consciousness, and hurry to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. I need to see Flynn.

This is fucking ridiculous. They're worse than ever.

As I stand by my kitchen sink I think, how odd that sleeping with her made the nightmares disappear. I slept well with Ana beside me. It never occurred to me to sleep with any of my subs... well, I certainly never felt the inclination. Was I worried that they might touch me in the night? I just don't know. It took an inebriated innocent to show me how restful it could be. I watched her sleep that night. She slept well. I'd watched my subs sleep before, but it was always as a prelude to waking them for some sexual relief. I remember gazing at Anastasia for what felt like hours... and the more I gazed the more beautiful she became. Her smooth alabaster skin almost luminous in the soft light at the Heathman, her dark luxurious mane of hair fanning out on the crisp white pillow, and the way her long dark eyelashes fluttered while she slept. Her lips were slightly parted and I could see her small even front teeth, and her tongue when she licked her lips. It was one of the most arousing things I'd ever seen. And when I finally went to sleep, listening to her soft even breathing, watching her breasts rise and fall with each breath, I slept well... so well.

Feeling foolish I wander into my study and pick up the little glider. The sight of it elicits a reluctant smile from me. I feel both proud to have made it, and ridiculous for what I am about to do. It was her last gift to me. Her first gift being... what? Pain reverberates through my body. Of course – herself. She gave me herself. Fuck, will this pain ever just stop? I take the glider and head back to bed.

"What would you like for breakfast, sir?"

"Just coffee, Gail." She pauses, then nods, though I can see her confounded expression as she turns away.

"Sir, you didn't eat your dinner." I gaze at her impassively.

"And?" She flushes.

"Maybe you're sickening for something."

"Not physically, Gail. Just coffee. Please." I shut her down – this is none of her fucking business.

She purses her lips, but nods once more, and turns to the Gaggia. I head into the study to collect my papers for the office and find a padded envelope.

I call Ros from the car.

"I want SIP. The due diligence is fine, though I have some thoughts. And their business plan needs an overhaul. But let's offer."

"Christian, this is fast."

"I want to move quickly. They're ripe for a take-over – they have financial difficulties and they're using antiquated methods. We need to bring them into the twenty first century... and I want it. I've emailed you on the due diligence and the business plan. I'll be in the office from 7:30. Let's meet."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure."

"Okay. I'll call Andrea re your schedule this morning. I also have the stats on the Detroit vs Georgia options for the new plant."

"Summary."

"Detroit."

"I see." Shit... not Georgia. "And Darfur?"

"In hand."

"Good. Let's talk later." I hang up.

I sit brooding in the back of the Audi as Taylor glides through the traffic. I wonder how sweet Anastasia will be getting to work this morning. Perhaps she bought a car yesterday, though somehow I doubt it. I wonder if she feels as miserable as I do... I hope not. I hope she's over her ridiculous fixation. But even as the idea that she loves me pops into my head my body rebels with a swift kick to my gut. She can't love me. How could she love someone like me? And certainly not now – not after all I've done to her. No one's said it to me before... except Mom and Dad. But that was surely their sense of duty. Flynn's nagging words about unconditional parental love – even for kids that are adopted – ring in my head.

"Mr Grey?"

"Sorry... what is it, Taylor?" Taylor has caught me unawares. He's standing by the car door, holding it open. I gaze at him, and he looks at me expectantly but with concern.

"We're here, sir." We're outside the office building. Shit... how long have we been here?

"Thanks. I'll let you know what time this evening." Fuck, I need to focus.

Andrea and Olivia both glance anxiously up as I stride out of the elevator. Olivia flutters her eyelashes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Christ – do I have to tolerate this silly girl mooning at me today? I feel my eyes narrow. I need HR to move her to another department.

"Coffee now, Olivia – and get me a croissant or something," I snap at her. She looks suitably crestfallen as she leaps up to follow my orders.

"Andrea – get me Welch, then Flynn, then Claude Bastille on the phone. I don't want to be disturbed at all, not even by my mother... unless... unless Anastasia Steele calls. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Do you want to go through your schedule now?"

"No. I need coffee and something to eat first." I scowl at Olivia who is retreating into the elevator.

"Yes Mr Grey," Andrea replies. I ignore Olivia's panicked look to Andrea and head into my office.

From my briefcase I take the padded envelope that holds my most precious possession – the glider. Placing it on my desk I gaze at it, feeling once more the distracting emptiness. She'll be starting her new job this morning... meeting new people. New men.

The thought is depressing. She'll forget me. Surely she won't forget me. Women always remember the first man they've fucked... I'll always have a place in her memory, for that alone. I want to stay in her mind. I need to stay in her mind. I don't want her to forget me...

What can I do? There's a knock at the door.

"Yes," I snap, dragged away from my sickening reverie of Miss Steele with other men. Andrea opens the door.

"Coffee and croissants for you, Mr Grey."

"Come in."

As she scuttles over to my desk I can see her eyes dart to the glider, but wisely she holds her tongue. She places the coffee and a plate with two croissants on my desk.

"Thanks."

"I've left a message for Welch and Claude. Flynn is calling back in five."

"Good. Bring my schedule in. I want you to cancel any social engagements I have this week. No lunches, nothing in the evening. Get Barney on the phone, and find me the number of a good florist."

She scribbles furiously on her notepad.

"Sir? We use Arcadia's Roses. Would you like me to send flowers for you?"

"No, I'll do it myself. That's all."

She nods and leaves promptly, as if she can't get out of my office quick enough. A few moments later the phone buzzes... it's Barney.

"Barney, I need you to make me a glass stand for a model glider."

Between meetings I call the florist and order two dozen white roses for Ana, to be delivered to her home in the evening. That way she won't be embarrassed or inconvenienced at work. And that way she won't be able to forget me...

"Would you like a message with the flowers, sir?" the florist asks, confounding me. Shit... a message to Ana. What to say? Come back. I'm sorry. I won't hit you again. The words pop unbidden into my head, making me frown.

"Um... something like, 'Congratulations on your first day at work. I hope it went well." I gaze at the glider on my desk. " 'And thank you for the glider – that was very thoughtful. It has pride of place on my desk. Christian'. "

The florist reads it back to me. Shit, it doesn't express what I want to say to her at all.

"Will that be all, Mr Grey?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir and have a nice day."

I scowl at the phone. Nice day my ass.

* * *

><p>"Hey man, what's eating you?" Claude gets up from the floor where I've just knocked him flat on his lean mean rear end.<p>

"You're on fire this afternoon, Grey." He rises slowly, with the grace of a sleek jungle cat reassessing his prey. We are sparring alone in the gym in the basement of my building.

"I'm feeling pissed," I hiss.

He gazes at me coolly as we circle each other.

"Not a good idea to enter the ring if your thoughts are elsewhere," Claude mutters cautiously, not taking his eyes off me.

I snort.

"I'm finding it helps," I say cockily.

"More on your left. Protect your right. Hand up, Grey."

He swings and hits me on my shoulder, almost knocking me off balance.

"Concentrate, Grey. None of your boardroom bullshit here. Or is it a woman? Some sweet skirt finally cramping your cool," he sneers, goading me. It works. I kick him full up on his side and drop punch once, then twice, and he staggers back.

"Mind your own fucking business, Bastille."

"Whoa, we have found the source of the pain," Claude beams triumphantly. He swings suddenly, but I anticipate his action and block him, thrusting up with a punch and a swift kick.

He jumps back this time, impressed.

"Whatever shit's happening in your small world, Grey, it's working. Bring it on." Oh, he is going down. I lunge at him.

* * *

><p>The traffic is light on the way home.<p>

"Taylor, can we make a detour?"

"Where to, sir?"

"Can you drive past Miss Steele's apartment?"

"Yes, sir." There's only a moment's hesitation in his voice. I've got used to this ache. It seems to be ever-present, like tinnitus or something.

When I'm in meetings it's muted and less obtrusive. It's only now, left alone with my thoughts, that it flares and rages in my gut. Fuck. How long does this last? I have never felt like this. As we get nearer to her apartment my heartbeat spikes, filling the void. Perhaps I'll see her. The thought is thrilling and unsettling, disturbingly so. And I realize that I have thought of nothing but her since she left. Her absence is with me, like white noise, constantly in the backgaround, accompanying the pain.

"Drive slow," I mutter to Taylor as we near her apartment. The lights are on. She's home! I hope she's alone... and missing me. I wonder if she's received my flowers. I want to check my Blackberry to see if she's sent me a message, but I can't drag my attention away from the windows of her apartment, just in case I see her. Is she well? Is she thinking about me? Is she thinking about someone else? I wonder how her work went...

"Again, sir?" Taylor asks as we glide on past and the apartment disappears from view.

"No." I exhale and take a deep breath. I hadn't realized I'd stopped breathing, and I cannot understand the crushing disappointment I feel at not seeing her. As we head back to Escala I glance through my emails and texts, hoping for something from her... but there's nothing. A clean break, I think bleakly.

Welch has nothing. How is Leila able to disappear like this? No paper or electronic trail... it's frustrating. I just hope she's safe. Taking a sip of my cognac I wander listlessly into my library. It's quiet in the apartment. I'd not really noticed before. Sweet Anastasia's absence has accentuated the silence. I never showed her this room. I expect to find some solace here, since it holds no memories of her. I contemplate putting on some music, but I just can't bear to listen to anything at the moment, except perhaps my piano.

I survey all my books. It's ironic that she's never seen this room. I'm sure she'd like it, given her literary background. Does she play billiards? I imagine not. An image of her spread- eagled over the green baize springs involuntarily to my mind. I take another swig of cognac and head out of the room. While there may not be any memories in here, my mind is more than capable and more than willing to create vivid, erotic images of the lovely Anastasia. I can't bear it.

* * *

><p>We're fucking. Fucking hard. Against the bathroom door. She's mine. I bury myself in her, again and again. Glorying in her... her smell, the feel of her, her taste. Fisting my hand in her hair, holding her in place.<p>

Holding her ass. Her legs wrapped around my waist. She cannot move, she's pinioned by me, ensnared by me... Wrapped around me like silk. Her hands pulling my hair. Oh yes. I'm home, she's home. This is the place I want to be... inside her... She. Is. Mine. I can feel her muscles tightening as she comes, clenching around me, her head back. _Come for me!_ She cries out and I follow... oh yes my sweet, sweet Anastasia. She looks sleepy, sated – and oh so sexy. She stands and gazes at me, a playful smile on her lips, then pushes me away and walks backwards, saying nothing. I grab her and we're in the playroom. I'm holding her down over the bench. I raise my arm to punish her, belt in hand... and she disappears. She's by the door.

Her face white, shocked and sad, and she's silently drifting back... the door has disappeared, and she won't stop. She holds out her hands to me... Join me, she whispers, but she's moving backwards, getting fainter... disappearing before my eyes... vanishing... she's gone. _No,_ I shout. _No!_ But my voice is silent. I'm mute... again.

I wake, disorientated. Fuck... shit. A fucking dream... Fuck – I am a sticky fucking mess. Shit. Briefly I feel that long-forgotten but familiar sense of fear and exhilaration – but Elena doesn't own me now, thank fuck. Christ... this hasn't happened to me since I was, what? Fifteen, sixteen? Fuck. I lie back in the darkness, disgusted with myself. Jesus H. Christ. I drag my t-shirt off and wipe myself down. It's like I've come for America here, spunk everywhere. I find myself smirking in the darkness, in spite of the dull ache of loss.

The erotic dream was worth it. The rest of it... fucking hell. I turn over and go back to sleep.

* * *

><p>He has gone. Mommy is sitting on the couch. She is quiet. She looks at the wall and blinks sometimes. I stand in front of her but she waves me away. He hurts Mommy. He hurts me. I hate him. He makes me so mad.<p>

It's best when it's just Mommy and me. She is mine then. My Mommy.

My tummy hurts. It is hungry again. I am in the kitchen looking for cookies. I pull the chair to the cupboard and climb up. I find some crackers. It is the only thing in the cupboard. I sit down on the chair and open the box. There are two left. I eat them. They taste good. I hear him.

He's back. I climb down and I run to my bedroom and climb into bed. I pretend to be asleep. He pokes me with his finger. _Stay here you little shit. I want to fuck your bitch of a mother._ _I don't want to see your fuck ugly face for the rest of the evening. Understand?_ He slaps my face when I don't reply. _Or you get the burn, you little prick._ No. I don't like that. I don't like the burn. It hurts. _Got it, retard?_ I know he wants me to cry. But it's hard. I can't make the noise. He hits me with his fist.

* * *

><p>Startled awake again I lie panting in the pale dawn light waiting for my heart rate to slow, trying to lose the nauseating acrid metallic taste of fear from my mouth.<p>

She saved you from this shit, Grey. You didn't have to revisit those dark gruesome memories when she was with you. Why did you let her leave? I note with irony that I am not sweating or screaming. I have become more tolerant of my nightmares. I glance at the clock. 5:15. Think I'll go for a run.

Her building is in gloomy shadows. The early morning sun has not touched and woken it yet. It's fitting, reflecting my mood, and I hope to God that she's sleeping up there... alone. Her apartment is in darkness and the curtains to the same room are drawn. That must be her room. I can envisage her curled up on her white iron bed, a small ball of Ana. Is she dreaming of me? Or do I give her nightmares? Or has she forgotten me... her clean break a success? Pain yawns and stretches, awakening in my gut and in my chest.

Fuck... how long will I feel like this? I've never felt so... fucking miserable. Felt despair eating my soul... well, not for a long time. My thoughts spiral back to before I was a Grey... No, no – not awake too – this is too hard to bear. I pull my hood up over my head and lean against the granite wall, hidden in the doorway of the office building. My usual spot, I think ironically, dragging my head back to the now, and the awful thought crosses my mind that I may be standing here in a week, a month... a year? Watching, waiting, just to catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be mine. It's painful... I've become what she's always accused me of being – her stalker.

I can't go on like this. I have to see her. See that's she's okay. Just try and erase the last image I have of her, defeated, humiliated, wounded... and leaving me. I have to think of a way.

Back at Escala, Gail watches me impassively.

"I didn't ask for this," I mutter, gazing at the omelette she's prepared for me.

"I'll throw it away then, Mr Grey," she says quietly and reaches for the plate. I give her a hard stare. She knows I hate waste.

"You did this on purpose."

"Yes sir." Interfering fucking woman.

"I'll eat it. Thank you." My voice is arctic.

And she fucking smiles, a small victorious smile. I scowl at her, but she's unfazed, and with the memory of last night's nightmare lingering at the edge of my consciousness I gratefully devour my breakfast.

Could I just call her and say hi? Would she take my call? I gaze at the glider on my desk... her thoughtful gift. She wanted a clean break. I should honor that, and leave her alone. But I want to hear her voice. For a moment I contemplate calling her and hanging up, just to hear her speak, just to hear her soothing soft voice. "Christian, are you okay?" "Sorry Ros, what was that?" "You're so distracted. I've never seen you like this." "I'm fine," I snap. Shit – concentrate, Grey. "What were you saying?" I can see Ros eyeing me suspiciously but she gives me the benefit of the doubt. "I was saying that SIP is in more financial difficulty than we originally thought. Are you sure you want to go ahead?" "Yes." My voice is vehement. "I do." "Their team will be here this afternoon to sign the heads of agreement." "Good. Now what's the latest on the air drop to Darfur?"

* * *

><p>I stand brooding, staring down through the slatted wooden blinds at Taylor parked outside Flynn's office. It's late afternoon and I'm thinking about her.<p>

"Christian, I'm more than happy to take your money and watch you stare out the window, but I don't think that view is the reason you're here," Flynn says dryly.

When I turn to face him he's gazing at me with an air of polite anticipation. I sigh heavily and make my way to his couch.

"The nightmares are back. Like never before." Flynn lifts a brow.

"The same ones?"

"Yes."

"What's changed?" I look at him quizzically and he shakes his head slightly.

"Christian, you look as miserable as sin and you're normally more verbose... something's happened."

Okay. Here goes... the Dr John Flynn headfuck. Again I feel like I did with Elena... part of me doesn't want to tell him, because then it's real.

"I met a girl." He frowns.

"And..."

"She left me."

He looks surprised.

"Women have left you before. Why is this different?"

I stare at him blankly. Why is Ana different? Ana. Different. My thoughts blur together in a rapid jumbled list. She's not a submissive. We had no contract. She was sexually inexperienced, a complete innocent. She's the first woman I wanted more from than just sex.

Christ – all the firsts I experienced with her: the first girl I'd slept with, the first virgin, the first to meet my family, the first to fly in Charlie Tango, the first I took soaring. She would have been my first date to the Chamber of Commerce Gala, too... the first time I'd ever publicly taken a girl to an event. Fuck. Yeah... Different.

"It's a simple question, Christian." Flynn interrupts my thoughts.

"I miss her."

His face remains kind and concerned, but he gives nothing away.

"You've never missed any of the women you were involved with previously?"

"No."

"So she's different because you miss her...?"

"No. I miss her, because things between us were different."

"How so?"

I shrug, but he persists.

"Did you have a contractual relationship with her? Was she a submissive?"

After a beat I answer. "I'd hoped she would be. But it's not for her."

"I don't understand." Flynn frowns slightly.

"I broke one of my rules. I chased this girl, thinking that she'd be interested, and it turned out it wasn't for her."

"Tell me what happened." And it's like he's opened the flood gates. I recount the past month's events, from the moment Ana fell into my office to when she left on Saturday morning...

"I see. You've certainly packed a lot in since we last spoke." He rubs his chin as he gazes at me.

"There are many issues here, Christian. But right now the one I want to focus on is how you felt when she said she loved you."

I inhale sharply as my gut tightens in disgust. "Nauseous," I mutter.

"And how do you feel now?"

Fuck... Lost. I feel lost.

"I miss her. I want to see her." I feel like I'm in a confessional owning up to a dark, dark need that I have, as if she's an addiction. I should let her go.

"So in spite of the fact that, as you perceive it, she couldn't fulfill your needs, you miss her?"

"Yes. It's not just my perception, John. She can't be what I want her to be, and I can't be what she wants me to be."

"Are you sure?"

"She walked out."

"She walked out because you belted her. If she doesn't share your tastes, can you blame her?"

"No."

"Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?"

I stare at him, blankly. He continues.

"Did you find sexual relations with her satisfying?"

Not the sex-talk again! Fuck. "Yes, of course," I snap at him. He ignores my tone.

"Did you find beating her satisfying?"

"Very."

"Would you like to do it again?"

Again? Do that to her again! And watch her walk out... again?

"No."

"And why's that?"

"Because it's not her scene. I hurt her. Really hurt her... and she can't... she won't..." I pause.

"She doesn't enjoy it." I don't ever want to gaze into her wounded blue eyes again, knowing that I was the cause. Her expression will haunt me forever.

"And this resonates with you. How she feels." I gaze at him perplexed.

"Don't you recognize yourself at all? Your past?"

Flynn's question knocks me off balance. Fuck, we've been over and over this.

"No I don't. It's different. The relationship I had with Mrs Lincoln was completely different."

"I wasn't referring to Mrs Lincoln."

"What were you referring to?" My voice is deadly quiet, because suddenly I know where he's going with this.

"You know."

I gulp for air, feeling once more the impotence of a defenseless child... the rage. The deep infuriating rage...

"It's not the same," I whisper, barely holding on to my temper.

"No, it's not," Flynn concedes. But the image of her indignant rage comes unwelcome to my mind. _This is what you really like? Me, like this? _ It dampens my anger immediately.

"She was mad," I whisper. "I've never seen her so angry."

"And why do you think that was?"

"Because I hurt her."

"She says she loves you. And you hurt her. As you've said, it's not her scene."

"I know what you're trying to do here, Doctor, but it's a very unfair comparison. She's a consenting adult, for fuck's sake and she had the ability to leave!"

"I know. I'm just callously illustrating a point, Christian. You are a very angry man and you have every reason to be. I'm not going to rehash all this right now – you're obviously suffering, and the whole point of these sessions is to move you to a place where you are more accepting and comfortable with yourself." He pauses. "This girl..."

"Anastasia," I mutter petulantly.

"Anastasia. She's obviously had a profound effect on you. Her leaving has re-awoken your PTSD, all your abandonment issues. She clearly means much more to you than you're willing to admit to yourself."

And it's like he's punched me in the gut. Is that why this is so painful? She means more, so much more, than I'm willing to admit to myself? The thought is revelatory. Shit... of course.

"You need to focus on where you want to be," Flynn continues. "And it sounds to me like you want to be with this girl. You miss her. That's been the overriding tenet of your conversation here today. Do you want to be with her?"

I blink at him. "Yes," I whisper.

"Then you have to focus on that goal. This goes back to what I've been banging on about for our last few sessions – the SFBT. If she's in love with you, as she told you she is, she must be suffering too. So I repeat my question: have you considered a more conventional relationship with this girl?"

"No, I haven't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's never occurred to me that I could."

"Well if she's not prepared to be your submissive, you can't play the role of dominant."

I gaze at him, shocked. It's not a role – it's who I am. And from nowhere, I recall an earlier email to Anastasia... my words. What I think you fail to realize is that in Dom/ sub relationships it is the sub who has all the power. That's you. I'll repeat this – you are the one with all the power. Not I. If she doesn't want to do this... then neither can I. Fuck. Hope stirs unexpectedly in my chest. Could I? Could I have a vanilla relationship with Anastasia? Could I turn my back on all that I know? Fuck... possibly. If I could... would she want me back?

"Christian, you have demonstrated over and over again that you are an extraordinarily capable person, in spite of your problems. You're a very rare individual. Once you focus on a goal, you drive ahead and achieve it – usually surpassing all your own expectations. Listening to you today it's clear you were focused on getting Anastasia to where you wanted her to be, but you didn't take into account her inexperience or her feelings. It seems to me that you've been so focused on reaching your destination that you missed the journey that you were both taking together. Do you agree? Think about it for a moment." He stops and gazes at me.

The last month flashes before me... her tripping clumsily into my office, her acute embarrassment at Newton's, her witty, snarky emails, her smart mouth... her giggle... her quiet fortitude and defiance, her courage – and in a flash it occurs to me that I have enjoyed every fucking minute. Every infuriating, distracting, humorous, sensual, carnal second of her – yes, I have. We've been on an extraordinary journey, both of us – well, I certainly have – a jaded roué and an innocent novice. My thoughts take a darker turn. I am not worthy of her. She doesn't know the depths of my depravity, the darkness of my soul – maybe I should leave her alone. But even as I think the words I know that I just don't have the strength to stay away from her... if she'll have me.

"Christian." Flynn calls me back. "Think about it. Our time is up now. I want to see you in few days and talk through some of the other issues you mentioned. I'll have Janet call Andrea and arrange a time." He stands and I know it's time to leave.

"You've given me a lot to think about," I mutter.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. Just a few days, Christian. We have a great deal to cover." He shakes my hand reassuringly and I leave with a small blossom of hope. I stand on the balcony surveying nocturnal Seattle. I am at one remove up here, away from it all, and normally I find that peaceful... but lately my peace of mind has been shattered. All my carefully controlled emotions and feelings have been scattered to the winds since I met a certain blue eyed innocent. The lovely Anastasia Steele. Have you thought about trying a relationship her way? Flynn's words haunt me, opening up so many possibilities. Could I win her back? Christ... the thought terrifies me. I take a sip of cognac. Why would she want me back? Could I ever be what she wants me to be? I won't let the small burning ember of hope die. I need to find a way. I need her back. Something startles me, a movement, a shadow at the periphery of my vision. I frown. What the...? I head towards where I thought the movement was, but find nothing. Christ, I'm seeing things now. I slug the cognac and head back into the living room.

* * *

><p><strong>Responses:<strong>

Your comments/reviews were totally unexpected, but appreciated all the same.

The following responses reflect the chronology in which the comments/review were posted.

Hi Guest, Thank you.

Hi jayem75, Thank you.

Hi Twilight Hunger games Woman, No need to apologise for the caps, I didn't mind one bit. You should know, I squealed like a banshee when I found these outtakes. If I were to write my reaction, it would have been typed in size 72, bold font, caps.

Hi rnkids, Thank you.

Hi mitzijem (Chap 1), You're welcome. I agree with your critique of Christian's character. It was certainly a satisfactory outcome to see the mighty Christian Grey fall. Hard. Then fail. Big. But, thankfully he recovered so we get our optimistic ending.

Hi Beth (Chap 1), Thank you.

Hi Twinkleeye, Thank you for your compliment. However, I should reiterate that every word typed here was written by E. L. James. So, I cannot take credit for them. Take-care.

Hi amgomer, Thank you for detailing your compliment. However, I should reiterate that every word typed here was written by E. L. James. So, I cannot take credit for them.

Hi M. , You're most welcomed. I had no idea either, until I read a viewer's comment from the YouTube clip entitled, 'Fifty Shades of Grey Photos & Videos Part 3 – The End by Finilla'.

Hi JessicaRowe, Thank you.

Hi mitzijem (Chap 2), You're most welcomed. I agree with your interpretation and it brings to mind the adage, 'You Don't Know What You Have Until It's Gone'.

Hi Beth (Chap 2), You're welcome.

Hi kathd16, You're welcome.

Hi Ana aka AwesomenessPersonified1003, Thank you for your detailed compliment. However, I should reiterate that this rendition of Christian's POV was written by E. L. James. So, I cannot take any credit for them. I will keep true to my promise to post these outtakes regularly until I have finished this undertaking. I will not make you wait centuries for a new update, I doubt I will still be around by then. :)

Hi grey shade, Thank you for your details compliment. However, I should reiterate that every word typed here was written by E. L. James. So, I cannot take credit for them. The Christian Grey you are reading came from the mind of the one and only E. L. James. Not I. :)

Thank you for opening up a dialogue with me. I wish you all a lovely weekend.

**Up Next: **

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker—The Breakup continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker**

**The Breakup continued…**

**Christian's POV**

_Mommy! Mommy!_ Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time. I shake her. She doesn't wake up. My tummy hurts. It is hungry. He isn't here. I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair to the sink and I have a drink. The water splashes over my dirty sweater. Mommy is still asleep. _Mommy wake up!_ She lies still. She is cold. I fetch my blanky and I cover Mommy and I lie down on the sticky green rug beside her. Mommy is still asleep. I have two toy cars. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the icebox I find peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly. They make my tummy hurt. I sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the icebox is something. It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue is stuck to it.

I eat it slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water. I play with my cars and I sleep beside Mommy. Mommy is so cold and she won't wake up. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blanky. _Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh the crazy fucked up bitch. Shit. Fuck. Get out of my way you little shit._ He kicks me and I hit my head on the floor.

My head hurts. He calls somebody and he goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. My head hurts. The lady policeman is here. _No. No. No._

Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. I stay by Mommy. No. Stay away from me. The lady policeman has my blanky and she grabs me. I scream. _Mommy. Mommy._ The words are gone. I can't say the words. Mommy can't hear me. I have no words.

* * *

><p>I wake breathing hard, taking huge gulps of air, checking my surroundings. Oh thank Christ – I am in my bed. Slowly the fear recedes and I recover my equilibrium. I am twenty-seven, not four. This shit has to stop. I had these under control. Maybe one nightmare once every couple of weeks, but nothing like this, night after night. I turn over.<p>

Fuck. I want these dreams to stop. I want Anastasia. I need her back here. Not just for the nightmares – I need her in my life. In my bed. She's the day to my night... I was her first. She's mine. I am going to fucking get her back.

My heart rate restored I lie back and think... how can I win her back? _Have you thought about trying a relationship her way? _She wants hearts and flowers. How do I that? Can I give her that? I frown, staring up at the ceiling desperately recalling any romantic moments in my life... and I draw a complete blank. Nothing. Fuck... this is going to be hard, but not impossible, surely. I drift back to sleep, the mantra in my head: _She's mine._

She's mine... and I can smell her scent, feel her soft skin, taste her sweet lips, hear her soft moans. I groan at the thought and fall, into an erotic, Anastasia-filled dream.

I wake suddenly, unnerved by something. My scalp prickles. I sit up and rub my head, glancing around the room. I note with irony that in spite of the carnal dreams of the lovely Miss Steele my body has conformed. Elena would be pleased... I smirk in the darkness. I remember that she called the previous night, and I haven't returned her call.

Elena's the last person I want to talk to... there's only one place I want to be right now. I get up and pull on my running gear. I am going to check on Anastasia.

The early morning dawn is cool and calm. The streets are quiet except for the rumble of the odd delivery truck, and one solitary dog walker. Her apartment is in darkness, the curtains to her room closed. I keep a silent vigil from my stalker's hide, gazing longingly up at the windows. I need a plan – a plan to capture a Steele. I turn my iPod up loud and Moby accompanies me on my run back to Escala.

"I'll have a croissant, Mrs J."

She gapes at me and I cock my head to one side. She flushes.

"Apricot preserve?" she asks, recovering herself.

I nod.

"I'll heat up a couple for you, Mr Grey. Here's your coffee."

"Thank you, Gail."

She smiles, and I wonder why. Is it just because I am having croissants? Christ, if it makes her that happy I should have them more often. I stride into my office to escape.

In the back of the Audi, I plot. I need to get up close and personal with Miss Steele, begin my campaign to win her back. The question is, how? I call Andrea and leave a message on her voicemail. She's not yet in the office, but then it's only 7:15.

"Andrea, as soon as you're in, I want to run through my schedule for the next few days."

There – step one in my offensive is to find out what the fuck I am supposed to be doing over the next few days. I don't have a clue. Normally I'm on this shit... Christ, I've been all over the fucking place. Well, now I have a mission. Something to focus on. Yeah, Grey, you can do this. You can get her back.

But deep down I wish I had the courage of my convictions. Anxiety unfurls in the depths of my gut. This has to work. She's my only hope.

"Mr Grey, I cancelled all your social events this week. The only one I didn't was for tomorrow – I don't know what the occasion is. Your calendar says Portland, that's it." I gape at her. CHRIST, YES! The fucking photographer! I think I beam at Andrea, because her eyebrows shoot up in shock.

"Thanks, Andrea. That's all for now. Send in Sam."

"Sure, Mr Grey. Would you like some more coffee?"

"Please." She nods politely and leaves. It's my in... Yes! Next... my plan of attack.

My morning has been back-to-back meetings. I have had to concentrate. My staff have been glancing at me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Okay, that has been my modus operandi for the last few days, but today I feel clearer, calmer, present and able to deal with all this shit. I have some bridges to mend. It's lunchtime and my workout with Claude has gone well. We worked with weights today. I am famished, and when finally presented with my lunch am annoyed that there's no mayo on my sandwich. Olivia is making some groveling apology. She practically shakes whenever she's near me... I must get that fucking girl out of my company.

"I said chicken with mayonnaise, Olivia. It's not hard."

"I'm sorry, Mr Grey."

"Just go." She blinks at me and I can see tears welling in her eyes. For fuck's sake, grow a backbone! "Out!" I snap at her and she scrambles to leave the room.

I buzz Andrea.

"Sir?"

"Come in here."

Andrea appears at the doorway, wide-eyed and nervous. "Get rid of that girl."

Andrea pulls herself up straight. "Sir, Olivia is Senator Blandino's daughter."

"I don't give a damn if she's the Queen of fucking England. Get her out of my office."

"Yes, sir." Andrea flushes.

"Get someone else to help you," I mutter, my tone softer. I don't want to lose Andrea.

"Yes, Mr Grey."

"Thank you. That's all."

She nods, and I know she's back on board. She's a good PA. I don't want her to jack in her job because I'm being an asshole. She exits leaving me to my chicken sandwich, no mayo, and my plan of campaign. Portland.

I know the form of email address for employees at SIP. I think she'll respond better in writing. She always has. I compose an email to her... delete it and start again. Half an hour later I am still staring at a blank computer screen. What the fuck do I say?

Come back... please? Forgive me. I miss you. I can't sleep without you.

I put my head in my hands. Why is this so fucking difficult? Keep it simple, Grey. Just cut the crap. I tap out an email. Yes... this will do.

Andrea buzzes me. "Ros is here to see you, sir."

"Tell her to wait."

I hang up.

I take a deep breath and press send.

From: Christian Grey  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:05pm  
>To: Anastasia Steele<p>

Dear Anastasia,

Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it's going well. Did you get my flowers?  
>I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend's show, and I'm sure you've not had time to purchase a car.<br>I would be more than happy to take you – should you wish.  
>Let me know.<p>

Christian Grey  
>CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.<p>

Fuck. My heart is practically in my fucking mouth. The anxiety explodes inside me, and to distract myself I trace my finger along the wings of my glider. For fuck's sake, Grey, focus.

Get a grip. Come on, Anastasia... answer me. She's always been so prompt. I check my watch... 14:08. Nothing. Getting up I pace around my office, glancing at my watch every three seconds, or so it feels. By 2:20 I am in despair. She's not going to reply. She really does hate me. Shit... who could blame her? My hopes come crashing down around me.

I hear the ping of an email. My heart leaps into my throat and I look... Fuck! It's from Ros. She's gone back to her office... And then it's there, in my in box, the magical words: From Anastasia Steele.

From: Anastasia Steele  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:25pm  
>To: Christian Grey<p>

Hi Christian,

Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely.  
>Yes, I would appreciate a lift.<p>

Thank you.

Anastasia Steele  
>Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP.<p>

Relief floods through me and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling. YES! I pore over her email looking for clues... and as usual I have no idea what the thoughts are behind her words.

The email is friendly enough, but that's it... Just friendly. I have to seize the fucking day. I respond.

From: Christian Grey  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:27pm  
>To: Anastasia Steele<p>

Dear Anastasia,

What time shall I pick you up?

Christian Grey  
>CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.<p>

She comes right back at me.

From: Anastasia Steele  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:32pm  
>To: Christian Grey<p>

José's show starts at 7.30.  
>What time would you suggest?<p>

Anastasia Steele  
>Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP.<p>

Shit. I'll need Charlie Tango. I wonder if she's available, or if one of my execs is using her. If so, I'm pulling rank.

From: Christian Grey  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:34pm  
>To: Anastasia Steele<p>

Dear Anastasia,

Portland is some distance away.  
>I shall pick you up at 5.45.<br>I look forward to seeing you.

Christian Grey  
>CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.<p>

From: Anastasia Steele  
>Subject: Tomorrow<br>Date: 10 June 2011: 2:38pm  
>To: Christian Grey<p>

See you then.

Anastasia Steele  
>Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP.<p>

And that's it. Stage one complete. My campaign to capture Miss Steele is underway. I feel elated. The small blossom of hope is now a Japanese Flowering Cherry filling the aching gap in my chest. Yes. I can do this. I can get her back. Now to put stage two into operation... I buzz Andrea.

"Miss Massey went back to her office, Mr Grey."

"I know, she emailed me. I need Taylor here in an hour."

"Yes, sir."

I hang up. Now, Miss Steele is working for one Jack Hyde. I need to know more about him. I call Ros.

"Christian." She sounds pissed. Tough.

"Do we have access to the employee files from SIP?"

"Not yet. But I can get them."

"Do. Today. I want everything they have on Jack Hyde and whoever's worked for him."

"Can I ask why?"

"No."

She's silent for a moment.

"Christian, I don't know what's got into you recently."

"Ros, just do it, okay?"

She sighs.

"Okay. Now can we have our meeting about the technology division?"

"Yes. I had an important call to make. It took longer than I thought."

"I'll be right up."

* * *

><p>When Ros leaves I follow her out of the office.<p>

"WSU next Friday." I look to Andrea who scribbles down this nugget of information.

"And I get to fly in the company chopper?" Ros grins at me.

"Helicopter." I correct her.

"Whatever, Christian." She rolls her eyes as she enters the elevator and it makes me smile.

Andrea is gazing at me expectantly. There's no sign of Olivia. Good.

"WSU next Friday. We'll fly down. Charlie Tango, not the jet. And call Stephan – I'm flying to Portland tomorrow evening."

"Yes, Mr Grey."

"Is she gone?"

"Olivia? Yes."

"Where to?'

"Finance."

"Good thinking. It'll keep Senator Blandino off my back."

I am blessed with a rare Andrea smile.

"You're getting someone else to help out here?"

"Yes, sir. I'm seeing three candidates tomorrow morning."

"Good. Is Taylor here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cancel the rest of my meetings today. I'm going out." She blinks at me.

"Out?" she squeaks.

"Yes," I grin.

"Out."

"Where to, sir?"

"The Mac store."

"On NE 45th?"

"Yes."

I call Elena and leave a message on her voicemail, saying that I have returned her call.

Leaning back into the seat I close my eyes and contemplate what I am going to put on the iPad I intend to buy Ana. So many songs I could choose... 'Toxic'? I smirk at the thought.

No, I don't think that would be a popular choice. She'd be mad as hell – and for the first time the thought of her mad makes me smile. Like she was in Georgia, not like Saturday... I shift uncomfortably. I don't want to be reminded of that. I turn my mind back to potential song choices, feeling more buoyant than I have in days.

I have made a play-list for sweet Anastasia. It's been a diverting evening, filled with music – a nostalgic journey through my iTunes. I remember her dancing around my kitchen, and I wish I knew what she had been listening to. She looked totally ridiculous and utterly adorable after... after I fucked her the first time. I frown. After I made love to her the first time? Neither term feels right. I recall her impassioned plea the night I introduced her to my parents. 'I want you to make love to me.' How shocked I was by her simple statement – and yet all she wanted was to touch me. I shudder at the thought. I have to make her understand that this is a hard limit for me – I cannot tolerate being touched.

I shake my head. You're getting way ahead of yourself, Grey. You have to close this deal first. I glance at the note with on the iPad.

_Anastasia this is for you  
>I know what you want to hear<br>This music says it for me  
>Christian<em>

Perhaps this will do it. She wants hearts and flowers. Perhaps this comes close. But I shake my head at the thought, because I have no idea. There's so much I want to say to her, if she'll listen. The songs say it for me. I just hope she gives me the opportunity to offer them to her.

But if she doesn't like my proposal, if she doesn't like the thought of being with me – what will I do? To her I may just be a free ride to Portland. The thought depresses me and dampens my spirits as I head towards my bedroom for some much-needed sleep. Do I dare to hope? Yes I do.

The Doctor holds up her hands. _I'm not going to hurt you. I need to check your tummy, Christian. Here._ She gives me a cold around thing and she lets me play with it. _You put it on your tummy, and I won't touch you and I can hear your tummy._ The doctor is good... the Doctor is Mommy.

I wake, and for the millionth time relived my mom's tender ministrations. They are etched vividly on my brain, though I have no idea if my memories are real or conjured from my imagination and dreams. Grace's calm voice, her gentle touch, her compassionate blue eyes... my lifesaver... my mother. I have hero-worshipped her since I was four years old, and I am thankful once more that it was into her care I landed. Turning over I try to sleep some more.

My new Mommy is pretty. She is like an angel. She strokes my hair. I like it when she strokes my hair. She lets me eat ice cream and cake. There is another boy. Elliot. He is mean. But I punch him. My new Mommy doesn't like the fighting. Baby Mia. She is so small. She smiles at me. I like baby Mia. She holds my fingers. There is a piano. I like the noise. I stand at the piano and press the white and the black. The noise from the black is strange. Miss Kathie sits at the piano with me. She has long brown hair and she looks like someone I know. She smells of flowers and baking. She smells good. She makes the piano sound good. She is kind to me. She smiles and I play. She smiles and I am happy. She smiles and she's Ana. Beautiful Ana, sitting with me as I play a fugue, a prelude, an adagio, a sonata. She sighs softly resting her head on my shoulder and she smiles. _I love listening to you Christian. I love you, Christian._ Ana. Stay with me. You're mine. I love you too.

* * *

><p>I wake with a start, but not with fear this time. I feel like I've done something wrong... guilt pervades my being in a way I just don't understand. What the...? Why do I feel guilty? I glance at the clock. It's 5:15 am... I shake off the irrational feeling and clamber out of bed. It's time to visit Miss Steele's building, to check all is well. Pulling on my running gear, a surge of excitement runs through me, swiftly followed by a crippling anxiety... Shit! I will see her today. It's stage three of my campaign. I will try and make her mine once more.<p>

I am lucky. I have an R&D meeting scheduled for most of today with Barney's and Embry's teams. I love this part of my job and know I will lose myself in the discussions and heated arguments that always evolve during these sessions. They will keep my anxiety at bay.

We are gathered in my boardroom where prototypes are scattered over the polished walnut table.

There are some seriously bright people working for me, and it's great to see Barney's MIT and Embry's CalTech rivalry on show. Christ, these guys are competitive.

We are discussing the solar-powered phone.

"We'll incorporate the solar-cells into the flip," Embry explains.

"Why can't we incorporate them into the entire casing of the phone?" I ask. Seven pairs of eyes flash to mine.

"Expense?" Barney pipes up.

"Don't concern yourselves with the economics. We'll sell it as a premium brand here for a small fortune and practically give it away in the third world. That's the point." The room erupts – and two hours later we have three ideas how to cover the fucker in solar cells.

"... And of course we could make it WiMax enabled for the home market," Embry states proudly.

"Tomorrow's technology today. Excellent." I grin in approval. "Ellen, tell me about the conflict mineral issue. How is Procurement dealing with it?"

* * *

><p>I have enjoyed my day for the first time... the first time since Ana left me. As I sit waiting for her in the Audi outside the SIP office, I feel my renewed sense of purpose. My plans are in place. Taylor paces outside. Christ, he looks as nervous as I feel. The thought is... irritating. I check my watch for the four-hundredth time. It's 5.44 pm. She'll be out in a moment.<p>

I tug at my cuffs nervously and rake my hand through my hair. Am I just a free ride to her? Will she have missed me? Will she want me back? I have no idea. Panic knots in my throat. Christ – calm down, Grey. Focus. Try and relax. I glance once more at the entrance to SIP and she's there, coming towards me. Fuck. All the breath is sucked from my body, as if by a powerful vacuum. I gasp at the intensity. There she is – in that dress I like and high black boots, though I barely register her clothing – and in this moment, as I take in her appearance, I know she's suffered as much as I have. Pain courses through me.

Her face is pale, almost translucent. There are dark circles beneath her lost and haunted eyes and she's... thinner. Fuck. My shock at her appearance turns to fury. Fuck – rage. She hasn't been eating. She's lost, what? 5 or 6 pounds in the last few days. She glances at some guy behind her. Who the fuck is that? As she approaches the car I feel wrath hammering through my blood. Taylor opens the door to let her in and she sits down beside me. I can barely hold on to my temper.

"When did you last eat?" I snap as Taylor closes the door.

"Hello Christian, yes, it's nice to see you too."

What. The. Fuck!

"I don't want your smart mouth now," I snarl. "Answer me."

She looks suitably chastised, staring at the hands in her lap. I am fucking livid and she hesitantly trots out some lame explanation.

"Err... I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Oh – and a banana."

That's not fucking eating. I try, really try, to keep a rein on my temper. "When did you last have a meal?"

She ignores me, and waves to the fucker who followed her out of the building.

"Who's that?"

"My boss."

So that's Jack Hyde. I mentally flip through the employee details I scanned this morning. From Detroit. Scholarship to Princeton. Worked his way from the post-room. Never retains an assistant – they never last more than three months. I have my eye on that fucker, and Welch will find out more. Focus on the matter in hand, Grey.

"Well? Your last meal?"

"Christian, that really is none of your concern," she whispers. And I'm in free-fall. Shit. I am the free ride.

"Whatever you do concerns me. Tell me." Don't write me off, Anastasia.

She groans and rolls her eyes, deliberately, to piss me off. And then I see it – a soft smile at the corners of her lips. She's trying not to laugh. It's so refreshing after all the heartache I've suffered that it cracks through my anger. It's so Ana. I find myself unwillingly mirroring her.

"Well?" I ask, my tone much softer.

"Pasta alla vongole last Friday," she murmurs.

Jesus Christ, she's not eaten since our last meal together. Part of me wants to beat the fucking shit out of her – but I know I can't ever touch her like that again. What do I do with her? And as I gaze at her, trying to fathom what to do, part of me knows – knows that she didn't get drunk and meet someone. She's been tucked up in her little white bed on her own.

The thought is comforting on some level but I feel so responsible. I am a monster. I did this to her. Shit. How can I ever win her back?

"I see," I mutter noncommittally, trying to dampen my anxiety.

"You look like you've lost at least 5 pounds, possibly more, since then. Please eat, Anastasia." What can I say to this precious girl to get her to eat?

She doesn't look at me, so I have time to study her beautiful profile. She's so pale and slender. I want to reach out and stroke her cheek. Feel how soft her skin is... check she's real. I turn towards her, itching to touch her.

"How are you?" I ask, because I want to hear her voice.

"If I told you I was fine, I'd be lying." Shit. She's been suffering – and it's your fault, Grey.

"Me too. I miss you." I reach over to take her hand. It's small and chilled.

"Christian... I..." she stops, her voice breaking, but she doesn't pull her hand from mine.

"Ana, please. We need to talk."

"Christian... I ... please... I have cried so much," she whispers.

"Oh, baby, no." I can bear it no longer. I tug her hand and lift her into my lap, circling her with my arms. The feel of her... I want to groan in frustration. She's so light, so fragile. I bury my nose in her hair, breathing in her intoxicating, soothing Anastasia scent.

After a beat she relaxes against me, her head resting on my shoulder. She doesn't struggle out of my hold – and it's such a relief. Fuck, I have missed this girl. To feel her in my arms again, it's like I've come home. But I must be careful. I don't want her to bolt again. I hold her, relishing the feeling of her in my arms, just enjoying this moment of tranquility. It's a brief interlude – Taylor reaches the Seattle downtown helipad in record time.

"Come." I reluctantly shift her off my lap. "We're here."

She gazes at me, blue eyes puzzled.

"Helipad – on the top of this building," I explain. How did she think we were getting to Portland? It would take 3 hours to drive at least. Taylor opens her car door and I climb out on my side.

"I should give you back your handkerchief," she says quietly to Taylor.

"Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes." What the fuck's going on between _them?_

"Nine?" I say, as pointedly as I can, to remind him of our arrangement. "Yes sir."

Damn right. Giving fucking handkerchiefs to my Anastasia – fucking hell. That's my job. Taking her small hand in mine – the chill has gone, but her hand is still cold – I lead her into the building.

As we reach the elevator, I can't help but smile, recalling our encounter in the elevator at the Heathman. I had hoped to fuck her in one. I shift uncomfortably at the thought and release her hand reluctantly as the doors open, to usher her in.

Is it because she's so near? We're in such an enclosed space... shit. This proximity is arousing as always. Fuck.

She gasps softly.

"I feel it too," I mutter and reach out for her hand, gently caressing her knuckles with my thumb. Fuck. I want her. She gazes at me, her fathomless blue eyes, clouding with desire. She bites her lip. Fuck.

"Please don't bite your lip, Anastasia." I want to lean down and kiss her. Make her mine again.

She blinks at me, her lips gently parted. I suppress a groan. How does she do this? Derail me? I am used to control – and I'm practically drooling over her because I can see her teeth pressing into her lip.

"You know what it does to me." Baby, I want to fuck you in this elevator, and right now I don't think you'll let me.

The doors slide open suddenly and we're on the roof, bringing me back to the here and now. In spite of the warm day the wind has picked up. Anastasia shivers beside me. I wrap my arm around her as we head out on to the helipad, towards Charlie Tango. The rotors are spinning gently – she's ready for lift-off. Anastasia feels so slight. It makes me anxious.

My pilot Stephan runs towards us. We shake hands, and I keep Anastasia tucked under my arm. She feels so right there I'm reluctant to relinquish her.

"Ready to go sir. She's all yours!" he roars above the sound of helicopter.

"All checks done?"

"Yes sir."

"You'll collect her around eight-thirty?"

"Yes sir."

"Taylor's waiting for you at the front."

"Thank you sir. Safe flight to Portland. Ma'am." He salutes Anastasia and heads to the waiting elevator. We duck down under the rotors and I open the door for her, taking her hand to help her climb aboard.

As I strap her into the seat her breath hitches. The sound goes straight to my groin. I cinch the straps extra tight, trying to ignore my body's reaction to her.

"This should keep you in your place," I mutter. "I must say I do like this harness on you. Don't touch anything." She flushes. Finally some color staining her beautiful cheeks – and I cannot resist. I run the back of my index finger across her cheek, tracing the line of her blush. Oh Christ I want this woman. She scowls at me, and I know it's because she can't move. I hand her some headphones and then sit and buckle in. I run through my pre-flight checks. All instruments look good. I press the throttle to 1500 rpm, transponder to stand-by and position beacon on. Everything is set and ready to go. I put on my headphones, turn the radios on and increase the throttle to 2000 rpm.

When I turn to look at her she's gazing at me. "Ready, baby?"

"Yes."

She looks so wide-eyed and innocent, and excited too. I can't help my grin as I radio the tower to check they're awake and listening.

"Sea Tac tower this is Charlie Tango – Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take off to Portland via PDX. Please confirm, over."

"Charlie Tango" the tower squawks back, "You are clear. Sea Tac to call, proceed to 12,000 feet, heading SW 75 degrees. Air speed 165, over. "

"Roger tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out." I check the oil temperature. We're at 104, good. I increase the manifold pressure to 14 and the engine to 2500 rpms, pull back on the throttle and Charlie Tango rises smoothly into the air. Fuck, I love this. I glance once more at Anastasia.

"We've chased the dawn, Anastasia. Now the dusk." I smile at her and am rewarded with a shy smile in return. Hope stirs again in my chest... yes, I can do this. Yes, I can win her back. Time to dazzle her, Grey.

"As well as the evening sun... there's more to see this time." As we gain altitude I give her the tour.

"Escala's over there." I point to home, from where she's been so absent these last few days. "Boeing there – and you can just see the Space Needle."

She stretches to look, curious as ever.

"I've never been."

"I'll take you. We can eat there."

"Christian... we broke up," she exclaims, and I can hear the dismay in her voice. Shit. Don't over-react Grey.

"I know. I can still take you there. And feed you." I glare at her. She needs to eat. She flushes a lovely pale rose.

"It's very beautiful up here. Thank you," she murmurs, and I note that she's changed the subject.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

"Impressive that you can do this."

"Oh, flattery Miss Steele? But I am a man of many talents."

"I'm fully aware of that, Mr Grey."

Ha! – Innuendo. From sweet Anastasia. I smirk at her. She's obviously relaxing with me. Keep her talking, Grey.

"How's the new job?"

"Good, thank you. Interesting."

"What's your boss like?"

"Oh... he's okay." She sounds decidedly lukewarm about Mr Jack Hyde. Shit – I hope he hasn't tried anything.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I want to know – has that fucker done anything inappropriate? I will fire his ass if he has.

"Well, aside from the obvious, nothing."

"The obvious?"

"Oh Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes." She mocks me.

"Obtuse... me? I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele." I say sardonically, trying to suppress my smile.

"Well don't, then." She quips.

Oh yes. I remember this. "I have missed your smart mouth," I mutter, and I can't hide my smile.

She gasps and flushes once more, then stares down at the passing suburbs. Oh what I'd like to do to her smart mouth. I shift in my seat. Concentrate, Grey, for fuck's sake. I check the heading – all is well. We're on track for Portland.

She's quiet, and I steal the occasional glance at her. She is so beautiful. How could I let her walk out of my life? I feel much more relaxed, content even, now that she's here with me in our own bubble, high in the sky. Christ, I hope my plan works... I just need to find the right words. These last few days have shown me that I do need someone – I need her. I want her... but will she have me? Time will tell, Grey – just take it easy. Don't frighten her off again.

I land smoothly on Portland's only helipad. It's twilight, and I feel a growing sense of urgency. All the peace I felt being beside her, lost in the clouds, evaporates. I need to tell her how I feel. I just have to pick the right moment. I unbuckle my harness as Charlie Tango powers down and lean across to undo hers. I like her strapped down. I wonder briefly if she found all our kinky fuckery distasteful. If memory serves me correctly, I think she enjoyed it as much as I did. And I can have fun without hurting her. The thought is very appealing – too appealing, and I swiftly check my arousal.

"Good trip, Miss Steele?" Keep it light, Grey.

"Yes, thank you, Mr Grey."

"Well, let's go and see the boy's photos." I open the door, jump down and hold my hand out for her.

Joe is waiting to greet us. He's as old as the hills, and what he doesn't know about flying you could write on the back of a postage stamp. I have a soft spot for old Joe, who flew Sikorskys in Korea for casualty evacuation. Boy, does he have some hair-raising stories.

"Joe, keep her safe for Stephan. He'll be along around eight or nine."

"Will do, Mr Grey. Ma'am. Your car's waiting downstairs, sir. Oh, and the elevator's out of order, you'll need to use the stairs."

"Thank you, Joe."

As we head for the emergency stairs, I eye Anastasia's high heels and remember once more her tumbling into my office.

"Good thing this is only three floors, in those heels."

"Don't you like the boots?" she asks innocently.

An unwelcome vision of them hooked over my shoulders springs to mind.

"I like them very much, Anastasia," I mutter, hoping my expression doesn't reveal my lascivious thoughts. "Come. We'll take it slow. I don't want you falling and breaking your neck." It also gives me an excuse to get my hands on her. I snake my arm around her waist and we slowly descend the stairs.

In the car on the way to the gallery my anxiety returns. This is the show of her so called friend – the man who, last time I saw him, was trying to put his tongue in her mouth.

Perhaps over the last few days they've talked... perhaps this is a long-anticipated rendezvous between them. Fuck, I hope not.

"José is just a friend," she says softly.

She knows what I'm thinking? Am I that obvious? Since when? Since she stripped me of all my armor. I shift to gaze at her in wonder. How does she know me so well? She stares back at me and my stomach tightens.

"Those beautiful eyes look too large in your face, Anastasia. Please tell me you'll eat."

"Yes, Christian, I'll eat," she mutters, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"I mean it."

"Do you now?" Her sarcasm continues and I almost have to sit on my hands. It's time to declare myself.

"I don't want to fight with you, Anastasia. I want you back and I want you healthy."

She blinks at me – her startled rabbit look.

"But nothing's changed," she says softly.

Oh, Ana, it has – there's been a seismic shift in me. We pull up at the gallery and I have no time to explain before the show.

"Let's talk on the way back. We're here."

I clamber out of the car, walk around to her side and open her door. She looks mad as she climbs out.

"Why do you do that?" she shouts at me.

"Do what?" Fuck – what's this?

"Say something like that and then just stop."

That's it – that's why you're mad? Thank fuck.

"Anastasia, we're here. Where you want to be. Let's do this and then talk. I don't particularly want a scene in the street."

She presses her lips together and mutters petulantly, "Okay."

I take her hand and charge into the gallery, pulling her behind me.

It's in one of those converted warehouses that are all the rage at the moment. See one and you've seen them all. It's light and airy, in spite of the dark floors and brick walls.

* * *

><p><strong>Responses:<strong>

The following responses reflect the chronology in which the comments/review were posted.

Hi Boo/Lou aka boogaloop, Thank you. It sounds like you've tried to look for these outtakes too. In the rare moments of clarity, it did dawn upon me that I had an unhealthy obsession with this story. But, I was too far gone to stop, so I kept going like a beaver building a dam. It has certainly paid off. I'm glad you love it. I will try. :)

Hi Guest, If you hold the opinion that E. L. James' story is shit. Then why are you spending your time frequenting a fandom that is dedicated to the continuation of her story, and subjecting yourself to such displeasing reading material? Perhaps frequenting another fandom or taking a bicycle ride in the local park whilst listening to Mungo Jerry's 'In the summertime' may be more pleasing.

Hi amgomer.

Hi mitzijem.

Hi Twilight Hunger games Woman, Thank you. Coffee. A cup of strong black coffee and I'm hammering away on my keyboard like a woodpecker on a tree trunk for a few hours every night.

Hi grey shade, Thank you. I agree. It is frightful indeed. It's inconceivable to me that a person could hurt a child. The far reaches of the resulting damage is immeasurable and indeterminate as to how it will manifest during adolescence and permeate into adulthood. The world is a beautiful place, thus, creating an effervesce for life. However, for some, it is a dark and deprecating place that enacts a soul tearing existence. The capacity for someone to be able to inflict such suffering on a life is both enraging and frighting. :(

I think E. L. James did a very good job in illustrating the conflict and subsequent resolution in Christian's character arc, particularly where he wrestles and eventually overcomes his emotional fears, through an introspective narrative. It's a pity she decided not to publish these insightful outtakes in the opening chapters of 'Fifty Shades Freed'.

Hi Bteam, Thank you.

Hi rnkids, I agree with you 100%. Then again, these outtakes were written by E. L. James.

Hi TWI-HP87, Thank you. I'm pleased that you like the layout. I however cannot take credit for the writing, that should go to E. L. James.

Hi Beth, Thank you.

Hi DraKarina, Thank you. They certainly aren't. Christian is definitely intense. Yes, his suffering was briefly shown in 'Fifty Shades Darker' when he said, "I'm anything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days, Ana. I'm in perpetual night here." I like taking a glimpse into Christian's POV—too. Particularly with these outtakes, where it reveals the moment when his carefully constructed sense of control shifted into chaos, thereby forcing him to confront his blocks and emotional fears.

It was a pleasure conversing with you. I wish you all a pleasant week.

**Up Next: Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker—The Breakup continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Outtake of Chapter 26 in Fifty Shades of Grey and Chapter 1 of Fifty Shades Darker**

**The Breakup continued…**

**Christian's POV**

Portland's cognoscenti are sipping cheap wine and chatting in hushed tones while they admire the photography.

"Good evening, and welcome to José Rodriguez's show." A young woman greets us. I want to roll my eyes when she gapes at me. Yes, yes – it's only skin-deep, sugar. Look elsewhere. Finally she seems to recover herself.

"Oh, it's you, Ana. We'll want your take on all this too." She grins at Ana, then hands me a brochure and points us towards the drinks table. Ana frowns, and the little v forms above her nose. I want to kiss it... again.

"You know her?" She shakes her head and looks puzzled. I shrug. Well... this is Portland. "What would you like to drink?" I ask.

"I'll have a glass of white wine, thank you."

As I head for the table I hear a loud exclamation.

"Ana! "

When I look around that boy is hugging my girl. Fuck. I can't hear what they're saying, but Ana closes her eyes, and for one horrible moment I think she's going to burst into tears. She remains composed however as he holds her at arm's length, appraising her. Shit – yeah, she looks that miserable because of me. She seems to be trying to reassure him. He looks really fucking interested in her... I mean... too interested. I can feel anger coursing through my blood. Back off, buddy, she's mine.

"The work here is impressive, don't you think?" an effete young man asks me. "I've not looked around yet." I answer and turn to the barman. "Two glasses of white wine."

I glance around and she's staring at me, her blue eyes large and luminous. My blood thickens and I can't tear my gaze away from her. Those boots are fucking hot... and the way her hair falls down around her face to her breasts... Fuck – control yourself, Grey. The boy asks her a question and she breaks our eye contact. I frown. He's all white-toothed smiles and broad shoulders and sharp suit. He's a good-looking son-of-a-bitch, I'll give him that. She smiles brightly at something he says, a dazzling smile. I'd like her to smile at me like that... then he leans down and kisses her cheek. Fucker. I grab the glasses of wine from the barman, ignore the young man beside me who's talking about photography in general or some such crap, and head back to her.

She's gazing at one of the boy's photographs, lost in thought. It's a landscape of a lake, and not without merit, I suppose. She glances up at me, her eyes assessing and anxious, as I hand her a glass of wine and take a quick sip of mine. Christ, it's disgusting... an over-oaked Chardonnay.

"Does it come up to scratch?" She sounds amused, but I have no idea what she's referring to – the exhibition, the building?

"The wine," she clarifies.

"No. Rarely does at these kind of events," I mutter quietly. "The boy's quite talented isn't he?"

"Why else do you think I asked him to take your portrait?" she says proudly, and it irks me. She's proud of him, like she has a stake in his success... because she cares about him, cares about him too much. The thought makes me jealous. That's such a new feeling, one that I've only ever felt around her – and I don't like it.

"Christian Grey?" The damned pap from some Portland rag interrupts my dark thoughts. "Can I have a picture, Sir?"

I want to tell him to fuck off, but decide to remain polite. I don't want Sam dealing with a press backlash.

"Sure." I reach out and snake my arm around Anastasia, pulling her to my side. I want everyone to know she's mine. The photographer starts snapping.

"Mr Grey, thank you," he mutters in appreciation. I nod at him.

"Miss...?" he asks of Anastasia.

"Steele," she murmurs shyly.

"Thank you, Miss Steele."

He slithers off and Anastasia steps out of my grasp. I'm reluctant to let her go. She gazes up at me.

"I looked for pictures of you with dates on the Internet. There were none. That's why Kate thought you were gay," she says.

"Oh, that explains the question. No – I don't do dates, Anastasia, only with you. But you know that." And I'd like to do more dates with you, baby. Lots more.

"So you never took your..." She quickly glances over her shoulder to check no one's listening – Subs out?" She flushes slightly. I want to snort with laughter. She's so innocent.

"Sometimes. Not on dates. Shopping, you know," I explain, trying to hide my amusement. And then I think about it... the only one I've ever wanted more with is her.

"Just you, Anastasia," I whisper, and I want to say so much more. I want to ask her how she feels, if she'll take me back. But this is just too public a setting. She blushes again that delicious pale rose and stares down at her fingers. I need to get her out of here, get her on her own. Then we can talk properly... and I want to feed her. The sooner we've seen everything the sooner we can leave.

"Your friend here seems more of a landscape man, not portraits. Let's look around." I hold out my hand and I'm childishly delighted when she puts her hand in mine.

We stroll around the gallery, stopping briefly at each photograph. Though I begrudge this boy the feelings he evokes from the lovely Anastasia, I have to admit he's quite good.

We turn the corner – and stop. There she is, seven full-blown portraits of her. She looks jaw droppingly beautiful and natural and relaxed. Laughing, scowling, pouting, thoughtful, amused... and in one of them, wistful and sad. And in that moment I know. I know he wants to be much more than her friend. They are his homage to her – love letters, all over the gallery walls for every fucker to stare at. Before I know what I'm saying the words are out.

"Seems I'm not the only one."

She too is staring at them, stunned, as surprised as I am to see them. Well, there's no way anyone else is having these. The thought makes my blood heat... I hope they're for sale.

"Excuse me," I mutter and head for the reception desk. I want those pictures. The gallery director is amazed that I want to buy them all. I hand her my credit card.

"I'd like them delivered as soon as possible."

"They're due to hang for the duration of the exhibition," she smiles too warmly at me. When I give her my full kilowatt grin she adds, flustered, "But I'm sure we can arrange something." And she's all fingers and thumbs as she processes my card payment. Women... it never fails. It's just a pretty face, sweetheart – you really don't want to look any closer.

She hands me back my card, all flushed and fluttering eyelashes. Managing a polite smile for her, I head back to Anastasia. Fuck – I leave her for one moment and the wolves descend.

There's a guy talking animatedly to her, all smiles and blond good looks... back off, she's mine. Ana jumps slightly as I take her elbow. The blond fucker grins at me.

"You're a lucky guy," he says, far too good-naturedly for my liking.

"That I am," I snarl at him. Now fuck off. He can read the cues... he backs off immediately.

"Did you just buy one of these?" she asks wide-eyed, when we're alone again.

"One of these?" I snort.

"You bought more than one?"

She really has no idea.

"I bought them all, Anastasia. I don't want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their own home."

She gapes at me.

"You'd rather it was you?" she says breathlessly, mockingly. She really, really has no idea at all, no idea how lovely and beautiful she is... it's staggering. The thought of someone else poring over all these photographs is an anathema to me. She's mine.

"Frankly... yes."

"Per-vert." she mouths at me, and she's trying not to laugh. I gaze down at her. Fuck she's challenging, and funny. "Can't argue with that assessment, Anastasia."

"I'd discuss it further with you, but I've signed an NDA," she says haughtily. Why does she always come back at me with this stuff? Christ, I'd like to put her in her place – preferably under me... or on her knees.

"What I'd like to do to your smart mouth," I lean in close and murmur.

She gasps.

"You're very rude," she scolds, flushing crimson. I smirk down at her. Oh baby, that's old news. I glance back at the photographs.

"You look very relaxed in these photographs, Anastasia. I don't see you like that very often."

She blinks at me, all blue-eyed innocence, then stares down at her fingers as if she's over- thinking something. Look at me. I want to know what you're thinking. Reaching forward I tilt her head up, and she gasps as my fingers make contact with her flesh. Again, that sound... I feel it in my groin.

"I want you that relaxed with me," I whisper urgently.

"You have to stop intimidating me if you want that," she snaps back.

"You have to learn to communicate, and tell me how you feel!" Shit... are we doing this here, now? I want to do this in privacy. She steels herself and seems to draw herself up to full height. Shit – where is this going?

"Christian, you wanted me as a submissive. That's where the problem lies. It's in the definition of a submissive – you emailed it to me once." She pauses, glaring at me. "I think the synonyms were, and I quote, 'compliant, pliant, amenable, passive, tractable, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued'. I wasn't supposed to look at you. Not talk to you, unless you gave me permission to do so. What do you expect?" she hisses.

Fuck – we need to discuss this in private! Why is she doing this here?

"It's very confusing being with you," she continues, in full flow. "You don't want me to defy you, but then you like my 'smart mouth'. You want obedience except when you don't, so you can punish me. I just don't know which way is up when I'm with you."

Okay, I can see that could be confusing – but I really don't want to discuss it here.

"Good point well made, as usual, Miss Steele." I can't keep the chill from my voice.

"Come... let's go and eat."

"We've only been here for half an hour."

"You've seen the photos, you've spoken to the boy."

"His name is José," she snaps angrily.

"You've spoken to José – the man who, if I am not mistaken, was trying to push his tongue into your mouth the last time I met him, while you were drunk and ill," I growl at her.

"He's never hit me," she snarls, her eyes blazing with fury. What the fuck? She does want to do this now... I can't believe it. Anger streaks through my body.

"That's a low blow, Anastasia," I whisper, seething.

She flushes, and I don't know if it's from embarrassment or anger. I run my hands through my hair to prevent me from grabbing her and dragging her outside and really showing her how mad I am right now.

"I'm taking you for something to eat. You're fading away in front of me. Find the boy, say goodbye." My voice is clipped as I attempt to rein in my temper. She gapes at me, stunned.

"Please can we stay longer?"

"No. Go. Now. Say goodbye." I only just manage not to shout at her. I recognize that stubborn mulish set to her mouth. She's mad as hell, and in spite of all I've been through over the last few days I don't give a shit. We are leaving if I have to pick her up bodily and carry her out of here. She gives me a withering look and turns sharply on her heel, her hair flying so that it hits my shoulder. She stalks angrily off towards José. As she moves away from me I struggle to recover some of my equilibrium. What is it about her that presses all my buttons? I want to shout at her, beat her... fuck her. Here. Now. And in that order.

He beams at her again, like she lights up his whole damn life, and ignores the female groupies clustered around him. He listens intently to everything she has to say, like he cares, then he sweeps her into his arms, spinning her around. Get the fuck off my girl. She weaves her hands into his hair, and she's whispering to the fucker! Before I'm even aware that I'm doing it, I am striding over, ready to rip him limb from limb.

Fortunately for him, he releases her as I reach them.

"Don't be a stranger, Ana. Oh Mr Grey, good evening," the boy mutters.

"Mr Rodriguez – very impressive. I'm sorry we can't stay longer, but we need to head back to Seattle. Anastasia?" I take her hand.

"'Bye, José. Congratulations again." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and I can take no more. I think I am going to have a coronary. It takes all my self-control not to put her over my shoulder.

I pull her to the front door and out on to the street. I can feel her stumbling behind me, trying to keep up, but I don't care... right now... I just want to...

There's an alley. I drag her into it and before I know what I'm doing I've slammed her against the wall. I grab her face between my hands, pinning her body against the wall with my own as rage and desire mix in a heady explosive cocktail. I capture her mouth in mine, so violently that our teeth clash, and my tongue is in her mouth. She tastes of cheap wine and delicious Ana... oh this mouth. I have missed this mouth. Desire flames through my body, like a forest fire through dry tinder. I am so aroused – I want her now, here, in this alley.

I'm met with her unexpected ardor. And what was intentioned as a punishing-I-own you kiss turns into something else. Fuck – her fingers are in my hair, pulling hard. She moans into my mouth and she's kissing me back, her passion unleashed. She wants this too... it's so arousing. I groan in response, undone. One hand holds her at the nape of her neck.

My free hand travels down her body, feeling her breast, her waist, her ass, her thigh. I want to pull up her dress, fuck her here. Yes – she ignites around me. Yes – she wants this too. She's missed this too. The feel of her. It's intoxicating and I want her like I've never wanted her before. No! No! Grey! Not like a cheap hooker in an alley. Get a fucking grip. I pull back, gazing down at her, mad as hell.

"You. Are. Mine!" I pant, and push myself away from her, practically sinking to my knees. Has anyone ever affected me like this? Ever?

"For the love of God Ana," I breathe. I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and calm my raging body. I am so hard for her right now. Christ, I nearly fucked this innocent in a back-alley.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, all breathless and panting too.

"You should be," I snarl.

"I know what you were doing. Do you want the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you."

"No. He's just a friend," she mutters contritely... and it goes some way towards calming me.

"I have spent all my adult life trying to avoid any extreme emotion... and yet you... you bring out feelings in me that are completely alien. It's very..." Words fail me, completely inadequate to describe how out of control I feel in this moment. "Unsettling," is the best I can manage. "I like control, Ana... and around you... that just..." I stand gazing down at her, "...evaporates."

She's flushed and beautiful, her blue eyes wide with carnal promise, her hair mussed and wild around her. I run my hand through my hair, thankful that I've recovered some semblance of self- control. See what you do to me, Ana. See? I run my hand through my hair again, taking deep thought-clearing breaths. I grab her hand.

"Come, we need to talk," I mutter. Before I fuck you. "And you need to eat." There's a restaurant opposite the alley. It's cheap and cheerful, but Taylor will be with us shortly so I can't shop around.

"This place will have to do," I mutter as I lead her in. "We don't have much time." I note with irony that the walls are painted the same color as my playroom. I don't dwell on the thought. The smarmy waiter leads us to a secluded table, all smiles for my sweet Anastasia.

"We don't have long, so we'll each have sirloin steak, cooked medium, béarnaise sauce if you have it, fries and green vegetables, whatever the chef has – and bring me the wine list." I glare at him.

"Certainly sir," he says surprised. Yes, like I said, we're in a hurry and I don't want to fuck around. He scuttles off.

Ana pouts at me, annoyed. Fuck, what now? "And if I don't like steak?"

"Don't start, Anastasia," I sigh.

"I am not a child, Christian."

"Well, stop acting like one," I snap at her.

She blinks at me, her expression one of hurt.

"I'm a child because I don't like steak?" she asks, her voice high and petulant.

"For deliberately making me jealous. It's a childish thing to do. Have you no regard for your friend's feelings – leading him on like that?"

She flushes, then looks mortified and full of remorse.

The waiter returns with the wine list, giving me a chance to control my temper. I glance at the average looking selection and I can't resist.

"Would you like to choose the wine?" I ask, too sweetly.

"You choose," she mutters mulishly, and presses her lips together. Don't play games with me, baby.

"Two glasses of the Borossa Valley Shiraz, please."

"Err, we only sell that wine by the bottle, sir."

"A bottle then," I snap. You stupid prick.

"Sir." He retreats.

"You're very grumpy," she mutters, no doubt feeling sorry for the supercilious jerk. I gaze at her as impassively as I can manage.

"I wonder why that is?" And even to my own ears I sound petulant.

"Well, it's good to set the right tone for an intimate and honest discussion about the future, wouldn't you say?" She smiles too sweetly back at me. Oh, tit for tat Miss Steele – and she's called me out again. I have to admire her courage. I can feel a smile threatening, and I do my best to stop it.

"I'm sorry," I say. She's right.

"Apology accepted... and I'm pleased to inform you I haven't decided to become a vegetarian since we last ate."

"Since that was the last time you ate, I think that's a moot point."

"There's that word again... moot."

"Moot," I mouth and this time I can't help my ironic smile. That word... I remember I last used it while discussing our Saturday morning. Just before my world fell apart.

"Ana, the last time we spoke, you left me. I'm a little nervous. I've told you I want you back, and you've said – nothing." I gaze at her and watch the color drain from her face.

Shit.

"I've missed you – really missed you, Christian. The past five days have been... difficult."

She swallows and takes a steadying breath. Shit, this doesn't look good. Perhaps my behavior over the last hour has finally driven her away. I stop breathing.

"But nothing's changed. I can't be what you want me to be," she whispers.

"You are what I want you to be." You are everything I want you to be.

"No, Christian, I'm not."

Oh Ana, please believe me.

"You're upset because of what happened last time. I behaved, stupidly, and you... Why didn't you safe-word, Anastasia?" She blinks at me as if I've pulled the rug from beneath her feet. "Answer me," I urge, and as I watch she kind of shrinks and folds up on herself in front of me.

"I forgot," she whispers.

"You forgot!" I gasp in dismay. We've been through all this shit because she forgot? Fuck! Why didn't I remind her? What a fucking fool I am... she didn't ask me to stop. Would she ever?

"How can I trust you? Ever?" I exclaim. Shit. If she can't be honest with me... what hope do we have? My spirits sink... Fuck!

The waiter arrives with the wine as we gaze disbelievingly at each other. He takes his sweet time opening the bottle as theatrically as possible. Who the fuck is he trying to impress? He pours a glass. I take a quick sip. It needs to breathe, but it's passable.

"That's fine."

He fills our glasses and then goes. We haven't taken our eyes off each other. Each trying to fathom what the other is thinking. She takes a sip and closes her eyes in appreciation, and for a moment I am transported, enjoying her sensual tribute to the wine. She opens her eyes and gazes at me.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Sorry for what?" I ask. Is there no hope? Fuck!

"Not using the safe word." Welcome relief courses through me.

"We might have avoided all this... suffering," I mutter, in an attempt to hide my relief.

"You look fine," she says softly.

"Appearances can be deceptive. I am not fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days Ana. I'm in perpetual night here." She gapes at me in breathless shock. Okay... here goes.

"You said you'd never leave, and yet, the going gets tough and you're out the door." I mutter, and I can't keep the petulant accusation out of my voice.

"When did I say I'd never leave?"

"In your sleep. It was the most comforting thing I've heard in so long, Anastasia. It made me relax."

She gapes at me again.

"You said you loved me," I whisper... and though the words tear at me, I have to know if she still feels that way. "Is that now in the past tense?"

"No Christian, it's not," she murmurs, her eyes bright with sincerity. And relief floods through me again.

"Good," I mutter. I want to stop thinking about that right now. Fortunately the waiter returns with our meal.

"Eat," I snap.

She eyes her plate with distaste. I see red.

"So help me God, Anastasia, if you don't eat, I will take you across my knee here in this restaurant. And it will have nothing to do with my sexual gratification. Eat!" I hiss.

"Okay. I'll eat. Stow your twitching palm please." She's trying for humor – but I am not laughing. She's wasting away. Stupid little... She picks up her cutlery like she's under some kind of death sentence and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. She takes one bite... and closes her eyes and licks her lips. The sight of her small pink tongue is enough to arouse me. Christ, not again! I stop my body in its tracks. There'll be time for this later... if she says yes.

We eat. Saying nothing. So she hasn't told me to fuck off... yet. As I surreptitiously watch her I can't help but realize how much I am enjoying just being in her company. Okay, so I'm tied up in all kinds of emotional knots... but she's here. She's with me and she's eating. I feel hopeful we can make my proposition work. Her reaction to me in the alley was... visceral. She still wants me. I know I could have fucked her there and she wouldn't have stopped me.

"Do you know who's singing?" She interrupts my reverie. A young woman with a soft lyrical voice...

"No – but she's good, whoever she is."

"I like her too." I hope I'll get to give her the iPad... I hope she likes the songs I have chosen.

"What?" she asks. Shit, rumbled. Sometimes I wonder if she can read my mind. I shake my head.

"Eat up," I mutter.

"I can't manage any more. Have I eaten enough for sir?"

Is she deliberately trying to goad me? I gaze at her, and decide not. If she hasn't eaten much over the last few days she's probably full. I glance at my watch. Taylor should be along soon.

"I am really full," she adds.

"We have to go shortly. Taylor's here and you have to be up for work in the morning." I hadn't considered that before. She's working now – she needs sleep. I may have to revise my plans and my body's expectations. The thought displeases me.

"So do you."

"I function on a lot less sleep than you do, Anastasia. Well, at least you've eaten something."

"Aren't we going back via Charlie Tango?"

"No, I thought I might have a drink – Taylor will pick us up. Besides, this way I have you in the car all to myself – for a few hours at least. What can we do but talk?"

And I can put my proposition to you. I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Stage three of the campaign has not gone as smoothly as I anticipated. As usual she has derailed me. But I can turn this around, close this deal in the car, surely. Summoning the waiter I ask for the check, then call Taylor. He answers on the second ring.

"Mr Grey."

"We're at Le Picotin, South West 3rd Avenue." I hang up.

"You're very brusque with Taylor... in fact, with most people," she scolds.

"I just get to the point quickly, Anastasia."

"You haven't got to the point this evening. Nothing's changed, Christian."

Touché, Miss Steele. Okay Grey, it's shit or bust time.

"I have a proposition for you."

"This started with a proposition," she quips.

"A different proposition," I clarify.

She arches an eyebrow skeptically at me. The waiter returns, and I give him my card, not taking my eyes off her. I can tell she's intrigued. Good. Fuck, I can feel my heart rate pick up. I hope she goes for this... or I really will be lost. The waiter hands me the credit card slip to sign. I enter an obscenely large tip and write my name with a flourish. The waiter beams at me. Yeah smile at me, don't smile at my girl. My phone buzzes and I peer at the text. Taylor's arrived. The waiter hands my card back and disappears.

"Come. Taylor's outside." We both stand and I take her hand.

"I don't want to lose you, Anastasia," I murmur, gazing into her bright startled eyes. I pull her hand up to my lips and brush her knuckles tenderly. Her lips part as she inhales sharply. Taylor is waiting at the curb. I open her door and walk around to the driver's side. Taylor climbs out to open the door for me.

"I've got this, thanks Taylor. Did you bring your iPod?"

"Yes sir. I'll wear it the whole way home."

"What are you listening to?"

"Puccini, sir."

"Tosca?"

"La Bohème."

"Good choice." I smile. As ever, he surprises me. I'd always figured his musical tastes leaned towards country and rock.

Taking a deep breath I climb into the car. I am about to negotiate the deal of my life, as Taylor heads out into the traffic.

Anastasia gazes at me expectantly. I shift to face her.

"As I was saying, Anastasia, I have a proposition for you."

She glances nervously at Taylor, as I knew she would.

"Taylor can't hear you."

"What?" she frowns.

"Taylor," I call. Taylor doesn't respond. I call him again and then lean over and tap his shoulder. He removes an earbud.

"Yes sir?"

"Thank you Taylor, It's okay – resume your listening."

"Sir."

"Happy now? He's listening to his iPod. Forget he's here. I do."

"Did you deliberately ask him to do that?"

"Yes." She blinks at me surprised.

"Okay... your proposition," she says nervously. I'm nervous too, baby. Here goes. Don't blow this Grey.

"Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship, with no kinky fuckery at all?"

"Kinky fuckery?" she squeaks gaping at me.

"Kinky fuckery."

"I can't believe you said that." She looks nervously at Taylor again.

"Well I did. Answer me."

"I like your kinky fuckery," she whispers.

I blow out gently in relief, knowing she can't see me in the dark. Step one... okay. Keep cool Grey.

"That's what I thought. So what don't you like?"

She's silent for a moment... her blue eyes scrutinizing me.

"The threat of cruel and unusual punishment," she says eventually.

"What does that mean?"

"Well you have all those... things in your playroom, the canes, and whips and stuff... and they frighten the living daylights out of me. I don't want you to use them on me." This I have worked out for myself, I think ironically.

"Okay, so no whips or canes. Or belts, for that matter," I add, unable to keep the irony out of my voice.

As we pass a street lamp I can see her puzzled frown. "Are you attempting to redefine the hard limits?"

"Not as such. I'm just trying to understand you – get a clearer picture of what you do and don't like."

"Fundamentally Christian, it's your joy in inflicting pain on me that's difficult for me to handle. And the idea that you'll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line."

Fuck. I ignore her first comment. I am not going there, or I will blow this deal. I concentrate on the second half of her sentence.

"But it's not arbitrary – the rules are written down."

"I don't want a set of rules."

"None at all?" Shit – she might touch me. Fuck. How can I legislate against that? And suppose she does something stupid that puts herself at risk?

"No rules," she states emphatically.

Okay, million dollar question.

"But you don't mind if I spank you?"

"Spank me with what?" "This." I hold up my hand. She shifts in her seat... and a silent joy unfurls deep in my gut. Oh baby, I love it when you squirm.

"No... not really. Especially with those silver balls..." My cock twitches at the thought. Fuck.

"Yes, that was fun." My voice is gruff.

"More than fun," she mutters.

"So you can deal with some pain," I can't keep the hope out of my voice. She shrugs.

"Yes, I suppose," she swallows nervously. Okay... so we may be able to structure a deal around this. Deep breath Grey, give her the deal terms.

"Anastasia, I want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe, once you trust me more – and I trust you to be honest and to communicate with me – we could move on and do some of the things that I like to do." That's it. Fuck. I wait. Wait for her reaction. My wellbeing, my equilibrium hangs in the balance... and she says... Nothing! She stares at me and because it's dark I have no idea what she's thinking. It's purgatory.

"But what about punishments?" she says eventually. I close my eyes. It's not a no.

"No punishments. None."

"And the rules?"

"No rules."

"None at all? But you have needs..."

"I need you more, Anastasia. These last few days have been purgatory. All my instincts tell me to let you go, I don't deserve you... those photos the boy took – I can see how he sees you. You look so... untroubled... beautiful – not that you're not beautiful now – but here you sit, and I can see your pain and it's so hard knowing that I'm the one who has made you feel this way. But I'm a selfish man. I've wanted you since you fell into my office. You are... exquisite, honest, warm, strong, witty, beguilingly innocent... the list is endless. I am in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twisting in my darkened soul." Fuck... quite a speech Grey!

"Christian, why do you think you have a darkened soul?" she cries passionately, totally stunning me. "I would never say that... sad maybe... but you are a good man. I can see that – you're generous, you're kind, you've never lied to me. And I haven't tried very hard – last Saturday was such a shock to my system – it was my wake-up call. I realized that you had been easy on me, and that I couldn't be the person you wanted me to be, and then, after I left, it dawned on me that the physical pain you inflicted was not as bad as the pain of losing you. I do want to please you... but it's hard."

"You please me all the time," I whisper. When will she understand this? "How often do I have to tell you that?"

"I never know what you're thinking. Sometimes you're so closed... like an Island State... you intimidate me. That's why I keep quiet. I don't know which way your mood is going to go... it swings from north to south and back again in a nanosecond. It's confusing... and you won't let me touch you, when I want to, so much... just to show you how much I love you."

My gut disappears. She said it again. I gape at her and she suddenly unfastens her seatbelt and crawls into my lap, totally taking me by surprise. She takes my head in her hands... Christ!

"I love you, Christian. And you're prepared to do all this for me. I'm the one who is undeserving. I'm just sorry that I can't do all those things for you. Maybe with time – I don't know – but... Yes, I accept your proposition. Where do I sign?" She curls her arms around my neck and holds me.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Joy bursts in my chest... she's going to try. I get her back. She's mine again. I don't deserve her, and I get her back. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly, burying my nose in her sweet, fragrant hair, as relief and a myriad of emotions flow through me.

"Oh Ana," I breathe, and I sit holding her, too stunned to say anything else. She snuggles into my arms, her head on my shoulder, as Rachmaninov plays softly over the car sound system. I go over her words... I can't believe she still loves me – but this time, I don't fear the words. I'd fear if she didn't. But touching me... No, she can't touch me. I have to make her understand this. Manage her expectations. I gently stroke her back.

"Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia," I murmur into her hair.

"I know. I wish I understood why," she says softly, her breath tickling my neck. Shall I tell her? Why would she want to know this shit? My shit? Maybe I can hint at it... give her a clue.

"I had an horrific childhood. I think one of the crack-whore's pimps..." Beat me... burned me... broke me. "I can remember that." And anyone's touch reminds me of him. I shudder, and she tightens her arms around my neck.

"Was she abusive...? Your mother?"

"Not that I remember. She was neglectful. I think it was me who looked after her. When she finally killed herself, it took four days for someone to raise the alarm, and find us... I remember that." I close my eyes... and see vague, muted images of my mother slumped on the floor, me curling up beside her... and I don't know if they're from my dreams or my memories.

Anastasia gasps. "Well, that's pretty... fucked-up," she whispers.

"Fifty shades," I mutter.

She kisses me softly, tenderly, and a wave of emotion crashes through me... one I don't understand. I hold her tighter and kiss her hair. She's my solace and comfort. Leaning back I close my eyes, saying nothing more, because I have nothing more to say. I listen to the music, and when it's finished, to her soft, even breathing. She's asleep. She's exhausted. Like me. And I know I can't spend the night with her. She'll get no sleep if I do... I won't be able to be with her and not touch her, not make love to her. I hold her, enjoying her weight on me, honored that she can sleep on me. She's so precious. Fuck... and she's mine. I've done it. Won her back. I can't help my self-satisfied grin. Now I've got to keep her... that will be challenging enough. My first vanilla relationship – who would have thought? I imagine Elena's face when I tell her and I beam even more.

The car nears her street. Reluctantly I wake her. "Hey," I murmur softly.

"Sorry," she mumbles sleepily, and stretches.

"I like to watch you sleep."

"Did I say anything?"

"No. We're nearly at your place."

"We're not going to yours?" She sounds surprised.

"No."

She sits up straight and glares at me. "Why not?"

"Because you have work tomorrow." "Oh." she pouts.

I smirk at her. Well, at least she wants me. This is a good thing. "Why, did you have something in mind?" I tease.

"Well... maybe," she mutters shyly. Even now she can't say the words. It makes me chuckle. She's so bold in some ways – yet still so shy and innocent.

"Anastasia, I am not going to touch you again, not until you beg me to." That will get you talking, more comfortable with discussing sex. Discussing everything. Telling me what you need.

"What?!"

"So that you'll start communicating with me. Next time we make love, you're going to have to tell me exactly what you want, in fine detail."

"Oh..." She's shocked into silence. I move her off my lap as Taylor pulls up at her apartment and clamber out to hold the door open for her. She looks adorably sleepy and mussed up.

"I have something for you." I mutter. Stage four of my campaign. Opening the trunk I take out the large gift box. She gazes at me, stupefied.

"Open it when you get inside."

"You're not coming in?"

"No, Anastasia."

"So when will I see you?"

"Tomorrow."

"My boss wants me to go for drink with him tomorrow."

Not that fucker! Calm down, Grey. Deal with him later.

"Does he now?" I mutter.

"To celebrate my first week."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"I could pick you up from there."

"Okay... I'll text you."

"Good." I walk with her to the lobby door and watch while she digs around in her purse for her keys. She unlocks the door – and I can resist her no longer. Leaning down I cup her chin in my fingers. I want to kiss her hard, but I hold back, and trace soft kisses from her temple to her mouth.

"Until tomorrow," I breathe.

"Goodnight Christian," she whispers and I can hear her longing. It makes me smile.

"In you go." I order, and it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. Letting her go in on her own, knowing that she's mine for the taking. But there's always tomorrow, and she needs to sleep... but my body ignores my noble gesture and stiffens in anticipation. I shake my head, amazed as ever how much I lust after this beautiful girl.

"Laters Baby," I call, and turning on my heel head back to the car.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for a moment. Mission accomplished, Grey. I grin broadly, turn on my side and within seconds fall into a deep, dreamless, restful.

* * *

><p><strong>Responses:<strong>

The following responses reflect the chronology in which the comments/review were posted.

Hi knightduchess, Thank you.

Hi mitzijem. You're welcome.

Hello amgomer! Thank you.

Hi janeellove, Thank you.

Hi Guest, You're welcome. Thank you for leaving your comment. It gave me the idea to change my summary. Clear. Concise. I'm glad you're enjoying the outtakes.

Hi Guest, You're welcome.

Hi Beth, Thank you.

Hi kathd16, You're welcome.

Hi Twilight Hunger games Woman, Thank you. Yes. Way, way too late. If you consider the passage of time since the first fanfics were posted i.e. 2012, our 'interest' has certainly been enduring. If we dare to compare the timespan of our 'interest' with 'real life', we may have to admit that we have been committed to these fictional characters longer than some relationships/jobs.

How long do you think it will take our family and/or friends to organize an intervention if they knew about this? "We love you, but you need to breakup with Christian Grey now. He's not real." What?! _Noooooooooooo._ Cue the thermonuclear meltdown.

I'm not opposed to the casting of Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson. I had anticipated that the producers would cast actors that weren't well-known to the populist.

I'm aware that that a lot of the criticism is based upon these actors physicality, but I think there is more to casting the right actor than mere looks. I think an actors' ability to portray the character they are playing and the chemistry between them and their co-star is far more important, which I cannot comment on until I've seen the movie. In addition, when you consider the millions of readers throughout the world, it would be impossible to appease everyone's imagining of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele.

Jamie Dornan himself acknowledged this fact in an interview with Entertainment Weekly, "All I can say is I'm going to do everything in my power to portray Christian Grey as truthfully as possible. I can't guarantee that's going to please everyone—just me being cast doesn't please everyone—but it's happened and I'm going to give it everything."

Though, when I heard that Jamie Dornan was cast to play Christian Grey. I thought to myself, of all the actors they decided to finally cast, they went with the actor who is currently playing Paul Sector, a sadistic serial killer, in the British TV drama 'The Fall'!? A character who coincidently likes to hunt a 'certain type of female', who likes to 'gag them' and 'tie them up' before he kills them, who carries out a list of creepy post-mortem rituals namely bathing, grooming and taking nude photographs of his victim. Seriously! Jamie Dornan lady-killer, literally. Ironic much?

Overall, I hope Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson, respectively, do well in their portrayal of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele, because the success of this film will be a strong factor in determining whether or not the rest of the trilogy with be adapted to film. As a fan, I certainly want more. Always.

It was a pleasure conversing with you. I hope you all have a pleasant weekend.

**Next: Outtake from Chapter 3 of Fifty Shades Darker—Christian & Ana Reconnect.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Outtake from Chapter Three of Fifty Shades Darker **

**Christian & Ana Reconnect **

**Christian's POV**

We sit in the back of the Audi.

"So, do you want to beg at my place or yours?" I ask, cocking my head to one side, grinning. Fuck she looks good. She's slept. She's eaten. Her healthy glow has returned. I could fuck her in the car... I want to. Taylor might object. Fuck that, I pay him enough money...

"I think you're being very presumptuous, Mr Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment," she says huskily and all provocative, then bites her lip, deliberately. Christ, that's arousing. I shift in my seat.

"Taylor – Miss Steele's, please." I try and sound as cool and calm as I can. I want to yell at him to make it quick.

"Sir," Taylor acknowledges, and he heads off into the traffic.

She's gazing at me with her half-amused smile, and I don't know if she's laughing at me or at some thought she finds funny. I can't help but grin back. Christ it's good to see her. I have been looking forward to this since last night. I can't wait to get my hands on her.

"So how has your day been?" I ask.

"Good. Yours?" she grins, mirroring my expression.

"Good, thank you." I reply politely... but still with the inane smile on my face. We must look like a pair of Cheshire cats. Taking her hand I plant a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Her breath hitches and her grin broadens. The sound goes straight to my cock.

"You look lovely," I murmur.

"As do you."

"Your boss, Jack Hyde. Is he good at his job?"

She blinks and frowns.

"Why? This isn't about your pissing contest?"

I smirk at her. No, that fucker is dangerous.

"That man wants into your panties, Anastasia." I try to sound as neutral as possible.

She flushes and her mouth pops open in shock. Shocked Anastasia – I've missed her. The expression she's wearing now is one of my favorites.

"Well, he can want all he likes. Why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He's just my boss..." She tries to sound haughty, but her flush suggests that she's embarrassed.

Baby, baby, baby. He wants you. He's a sexual predator and you can't see it.

"That's the point. He wants what's mine. I need to know if he's good at his job."

Because otherwise I am going to fire his ass.

She shrugs and looks uncertainly down at her fingers. Shit... Has he tried something already? He has a very dubious history with his assistants. They never stay long at SIP.

"I think so," Ana says, but she doesn't sound convinced. Hell. She's only been there a week – maybe it's too early for her to form an opinion.

"Well, he'd better leave you alone, or he'll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk." I mutter, dispassionately.

"Oh Christian," she scolds. "What are you talking about? He hasn't done anything wrong."

She frowns again and the very kissable small 'v' forms above her nose. Why is she frowning?

Does she suspect he's after her too? The thought displeases me. I know I need to rebuild some trust between us, but she should tell me if she finds him threatening.

"He makes one move, you tell me. It's called gross moral turpitude, or sexual harassment." Talk to me, Anastasia. I'll listen, I promise. I don't want to lose you again.

"It was just a drink after work," she mutters.

"I mean it. One move and he's out."

"You don't have that kind of power," She scoffs. Then her eyes widen in sudden shock. Fuck! What is it?

"Do you, Christian...?" she asks warily, seeking reassurance.

I smile at her, desperately thinking of a way to change the subject, and coming up a complete blank. Shit.

"You're buying the company," Her whispered voice is full of horror. Fuck. That's not the reaction I expected.

"Not exactly," I murmur.

"You've bought it – SIP – already," she barely breathes, and her face pales. Christ. Do I lie? No. I mustn't lie to her.

"Possibly," I mutter warily. I don't have to tell her the whole truth.

"You have or you haven't?" she demands. I can't avoid this. Man up, Grey. She'll be fine with this... eventually. Hopefully.

"Have."

"Why?" she whispers, appalled.

I want to protect you.

"Because I can, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

"But you said you wouldn't interfere in my career!"

"And I won't."

She pulls her hand out of mine and glares at me. Shit.

"Christian..." She stops, searching for the right... expletive, epithet – What?

"Are you mad at me?" I ask. Though I already know the answer.

"Yes, of course I'm mad at you. I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who they're currently fucking?" She blanches and glances towards Taylor.

I open my mouth to admonish her. How dare she use that kind of language about herself? In front of my staff, for fuck's sake! Instinctively I want to take her across my knee, right now, here in the back of the car... but I know that option's not open to me anymore. I can't find the right words, and I take a deep breath, trying to hold on to my temper, as I glare.

She bites her lip and for a moment looks undecided, making my heartbeat spike... then smiles her beautiful broad smile and lets me in. I wave at Taylor. He pulls away from the curb and I follow Ana up the stairs, enjoying the glorious view of her ass. The gentle sway of her hips as she climbs each step is beyond seductive – more so, I think, because she has no idea she's doing it. I realize her innate sexiness stems from her innocence, her willingness to experiment, and her ability to trust. Fuck... A dark thought crosses my mind: I hope she still trusts me. I may have completely squandered her trust. I have to rebuild it – and rebuild it I shall. I have pined for this woman since Saturday... she's mine now. I won't blow it again.

Her apartment is neat and tidy, but it has an un-lived in quality about it. It reminds me of the gallery we were in yesterday, the converted warehouse, all brick and dark wood. The concrete kitchen island is a stark, novel, design statement. I like it.

"Nice place," I mutter.

"Kate's parents bought it for her."

Alec Kavanagh has done his daughter proud. It's a neat little condo – he's chosen well. I wonder how Ana feels being beholden to Kate? I know she has little money... it must be tough.

She's standing in front of the kitchen island, flushed, watching me closely, her eyes dark.

She licks her bottom lip... and my cock quivers.

"Err... would you like a drink?" she asks.

"No thank you, Anastasia." I want you.

She clasps her hands together, seemingly at a loss, looking nervous. Do I still make her nervous?

This girl can bring me to my knees, and she's the one who's nervous.

"What would you like to do, Anastasia? I know what I want to do." And we can do it here, or in your bedroom, or your bathroom, I don't care – I just want you. Now. I walk towards her, my eyes not leaving hers.

Her lips part as her breathing increases. You want me to, baby. I know it. I feel it. She backs up against the kitchen island... nowhere else to go.

"I'm still mad at you," she whispers. Not sounding mad at all... wanton, maybe. But not mad.

"I know." I give her my lopsided you-fucking-want-me grin and her eyes widen a fraction. You are mine, baby.

"Would you like something to eat?" she stutters. I nod slowly.

"Yes... you."

I stand over her, staring into her beautiful, fathomless blue eyes feeling the heat radiating from her. I want to be wrapped in her heat. Bathed in it. I want to make her scream and moan and call out my name. I want to reclaim her, wipe the memory of our bitter parting. I want to make her mine... again.

But first things first.

"Have you eaten today?" I need to know.

"I... had a sandwich at lunch." Fuck. How can we spend all night making love if she doesn't have the strength?

"You need to eat."

"I'm really not hungry right now, err... for food."

I smirk. More innuendo from little Anastasia Steele...

"What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?"

"I think you know, Mr Grey."

I want to groan. She's not wrong... It's taking all my self-control not to grab her and toss to the concrete counter. But I was serious when I said she'd have to beg. She has to tell me what she wants, finally vocalize her feelings, her needs, her desires. I need to learn what makes her happy. I lean down as if to kiss her, fooling her... and whisper in her ear instead.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?"

"Yes," Her breath hitches. Fuck. That sound is fucking intoxicating.

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I am not going to touch you until you beg me to, and tell me what to do."

"Please..." she whispers.

Oh no, baby. I'm not going to make this easy on you.

"Please what?"

"Touch me."

"Where, baby?"

She reaches up. FUCK. I step back instinctively, blinking, lost. Don't touch me! My heart lurches into my mouth and I have to focus on hiding my fear. Fuck... this is why I have rules.

"No, no," I scold her mildly, in an effort to disguise my reaction. But the damage is done.

"What?" she says, panic in her eyes.

"No." I shake my head at her. She knows this. I told her this yesterday.

"Not at all?" Her voice is small and pleading.

No, baby. No.

She steps towards me, and now I don't know what she's going to do. I step back and hold my hands up. I keep my smile glued on my face. I hope it will take the sting out of what I need to say.

"Look, Ana..." Please. Don't touch me. I don't like it... I can't handle it.

"Sometimes you don't mind. Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no go areas," she whispers sadly.

Well... that's one approach. Not one that I've considered before.

"That's an idea. Where's your bedroom?" I need to distract her from this subject.

She nods to the left.

"Have you been taking your pill?"

Her face falls. Oh Fuck...

"No," she squeaks. Christ – after all the trouble we went to, to get her on the fucking pill! I can't believe she just stopped taking it. Stupid little... Then again, maybe it meant she wasn't interested in sex with anyone else. I am disproportionately pleased by that thought.

"Well, part of me is glad. Not sure which part. Come, let's go and have something to eat." We both need to gather our thoughts. Bed can wait.

"What? I thought we were going to bed. I want to go to bed with you."

"I know, baby. You have the same effect on me that I have on you, Anastasia." And believe me, I can't wait to get you into bed... but right now, maybe we should eat and talk.

She looks crestfallen, and I'm absurdly pleased that she does. Ha! She wants to go to bed with me. I bound forward and grab her wrists, pinning her hands behind her and pulling her into my arms. I can feel her down the length of my body. Oh she feels good, slender but good.

"You need to eat – and so do I," I mutter. And you've completely thrown me by trying to touch me. I need to recover my equilibrium, baby. "Besides... anticipation is the key to seduction, and I'm really into delayed gratification."

She gazes at me skeptically. Yes I know... I just made that up.

"I'm seduced and I want my gratification now... I'll beg... please," she murmurs.

Fuck, she is Eve herself. So tempting. I hold her close... there's definitely less of her.

It's annoying... she's not been looking after herself. I smile down at her.

"Eat. I can feel how slender you are." I kiss her forehead.

She scowls at me and I feel a momentary relief. I like her stubborn and defiant.

"I'm still mad that you bought SIP, and now I am mad at you because you're making me wait." She pouts.

"You are one angry little madam aren't you? You'll feel better after a good meal."

"I know what I'll feel better after..."

"Anastasia Steele, I'm shocked." Inside I'm dancing. She wants me.

"Stop teasing me. You don't fight fair."

I try to repress my grin. Then all of a sudden she pales. Fuck – what now? "Erm... I could cook something – except we'll have to go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For groceries."

"You have no food here?" For fuck's sake – no wonder she hasn't eaten! I release her immediately. "Let's go shopping then," I storm to the door of her apartment and open it wide.

We walk two blocks to Ernie's Supermarket. It's small, and packed with too many people – mostly singletons, I judge, from the contents of their shopping baskets.

I follow in Ana's wake, enjoying the way her ass sways, all tight and taut in her jeans. I especially like it when she leans over the vegetable counter and picks up some onions... the fabric stretching across her behind... Oh what I'd like to do to it...

She's asked me a question. Fuck. I blink at her.

"When was the last time you were in a supermarket?" Anastasia is smirking at me.

"I can't remember."

"Does Mrs Jones do all the shopping?"

"I think Taylor helps her. I'm not sure."

"Are you happy with a stir-fry? It's quick."

"Stir-fry sounds good." I can't help but grin. She's really gagging for it. She'd better have her begging bowl ready.

"Have they worked for you long?"

Why the fuck does she want to know about my staff?

"Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs Jones about the same. Why didn't you have any food in the apartment?" Her eyes are serious all of a sudden.

"You know why," she murmurs.

"It was you who left me," I mutter. If you'd stayed I wouldn't have had the most shit week of my life.

"I know," she says contritely.

I follow her to the checkout and stand in line. Fuck... I hope she doesn't expect me to do this often. Perhaps I can get Mrs Jones to buy Ana's groceries too. We could have gone out to eat – there are enough restaurants around here.

"Do you have anything to drink?" I ask.

"Beer, I think."

"I'll get some wine."

I head off to find the wine section. It takes me three minutes to deduce that Ernie's Supermarket does not sell wine. I return to Anastasia empty handed.

"There's a good liquor store next door," she says.

"I'll see what they have."

I head out of the store, relieved. Christ – some people do this every day. For a moment I am grateful that Gail saves me from all this shit. Though shopping with Anastasia... that makes me smile. She knows what she's doing, carefully selecting the meat and the vegetables, her little hands prodding and squeezing... it's a pleasure to watch her.

The liquor store has a woeful selection of wine. I pick a Pinot Grigio from the chill cabinet, pay quickly and leave. Anastasia is just coming out of the grocery store.

"Here, let me carry that." I take both grocery sacks and we walk back to her apartment. She tells me a little about what she's been doing during the week. She's obviously enjoying her new job... good. She doesn't mention my takeover of SIP again, and I'm grateful.

Back in her apartment she gazes at me with ill-concealed amusement – another of her expressions that I have missed the last few days.

"You look very domestic," she says. Her comment takes me by surprise. I quite like being domestic... with her.

"No one has ever accused me of that before." I place the bags on the kitchen island and she sets to work unloading them. I grab the wine. The grocery store was enough reality for today. Now – where would she keep a corkscrew?

"This place is still so new. I think the opener is in that drawer there." She points using her chin. I smile at her, open the drawer and locate the corkscrew. It's gratifying to know that she hasn't been drowning her sorrows in wine during my absence. She blushes... why?

"What are you thinking about?" I ask as I shrug out of my jacket. Slinging it on the couch I saunter back to the waiting bottle of wine.

"How little I know you, really," she says wistfully. "You know me better than anyone," I murmur. She can certainly read me like no-one else. It's... unsettling. I open the bottle using the same cheesy flourish as that waiter in the restaurant in Portland.

"I don't think that's true," she says as she continues to unpack the bags. "It is, Anastasia. I am a very, very private person." I have to be... doing what I do. Um... what I did. I pour two glasses and hand one to her.

"Cheers." I raise my glass. "Cheers," she responds, and takes a sip. She starts busying herself in the kitchen, obviously in her element. She looks like she's been doing it for years... I remember her telling me how she used to cook for her Dad. She really is very independent. You knew that, Grey, deep down. She's a stubborn little thing.

"Can I help you with that?" I ask. She gapes at me as if I've asked her to steal the Crown Jewels.

"No, it's fine... sit."

"I'd like to help." She blinks at me, dismayed.

"You can chop the vegetables," she says eventually.

I'd better warn her. What I know about cooking is not worth writing down. Mrs Jones and my submissives – some with more success than others – have been the only cooks in my life. My Mom tried to engage me when I was in my teens. But it wasn't for me.

"I don't cook," I say, gazing at the razor-sharp knife she hands me.

"I imagine you don't need to."

She places a chopping board and some red peppers in front me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with these? They are such a weird shape to cut.

"You've never chopped a vegetable?" Anastasia asks, failing to hide the disbelief in her voice.

"No."

She smirks at me as if I'm a moron.

"Are you smirking at me?"

"Well, it appears this is something that I can do and you can't. Let's face it Christian, I think this is a first. Here – I'll show you."

She brushes past me and my body wakes. Fuck.

"Like this," she says as she slices up the red pepper and neatly removes all the seeds and shit from the inside.

"Looks simple enough," I grumble.

"You shouldn't have any trouble with it." Her tone is ironic. Does she not think I'm capable of cutting up a fucking vegetable? I'll show her.

Very carefully I start to slice. Fuck, these seeds get everywhere... it's more difficult than I thought. She made it look easy. She pushes past me, her thigh brushing against my leg.

It's distracting, but I continue to slice carefully – this blade is evil. She moves past me again, this time brushing her hip against me... then again, another touch, and all below my waist. It's very diverting.

"I know what you're doing, Anastasia," I murmur darkly.

"I think it's called cooking," she says brightly, innocently... disingenuously. Is she finally realizing the power she has over me?

Grabbing another knife she joins me at the chopping board, peeling and slicing garlic, shallots, and French beans. She uses any excuse to bump into me.

"You're quite good at this," I mutter as I start on my second pepper.

"Chopping?" She bats her eyelashes at me theatrically. "Years of practice."

She brushes up against me once more, with her behind. My cock approves, big time. She takes the vegetables and places them beside the gently smoking wok.

"If you do that again Anastasia, I am going to take you on the kitchen floor."

"You'll have to beg me first," she says, gazing around at me. Her eyes are full of desire... Fuck.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe." Oh, Miss Steele. Bring it on. I put down the knife and saunter slowly over to her, not taking my eyes off her. Her eyes get bigger and her lips part as she takes a sharp breath. I lean past her, an inch away, but don't touch her, and I switch off the gas for the wok.

"I think we'll eat later," I murmur... because right now, I am going fuck your brains out.

"Put the chicken in the fridge."

She swallows, picks up the bowl of diced chicken, rather clumsily places a plate over the top and puts the whole thing in the fridge. I step up behind her silently so that when she turns I'm right in front of her.

"So you're going to beg?" she whispers.

"No Anastasia." I shake my head, "No begging." I gaze down at her, lust and need thickening my blood. Fuck, I want to be buried in her. I watch as her eyes widen and her cheeks flush with desire. She wants me. I want her. She bites her lip... and I can bear it no more. Grabbing her hips I pull her against my hardening erection. Her hands are in my hair and she's pulling me down to her mouth. I push her against the fridge and kiss her hard. She tastes so good. So sweet. She moans into my mouth and it's like a wake-up call for my body that makes me harder still. I move my hand into her hair, pulling her head back so I can angle my tongue deeper into her mouth. Her tongue wrestles with mine... fuck – it's erotic, raw, intense. I pull back.

"What do you want, Anastasia?"

"You."

"Where?"

"Bed." I need no other prompt. I release her, scoop her into my arms, and carry her quickly into her bedroom. I need her naked and wanting underneath me. Putting her gently on the floor I quickly switch on her bedside light and draw her curtains. As I glance quickly down to the street below, I realize this is indeed the room I stared at, during my silent vigils, from my stalker's hide. When I turn she's standing watching me. Wide-eyed. Waiting. Wanting.

"Now what?" I ask.

She flushes.

"Make love to me," she says after a beat.

"How? You have got to tell me, baby." She licks her lips nervously and lust surges through me.

Shit – focus, Grey.

"Undress me," she says.

Finally! I hook my index finger into the top of her blouse, careful not to touch her soft skin, and tug gently, forcing her to step towards me.

"Good girl," I murmur.

I can see the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing quickens. I gaze into her eyes, my own full of carnal promise I'm sure, hers wide with longing and need. Just like I need her. Deftly I start to unbutton her blouse. She puts her hands on my arms, to steady herself I think, and gazes up at me. Yeah, that's fine, baby. Don't touch my chest.

I undo the last button, pull the blouse off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Making a very conscious effort not to touch her beautiful breasts I reach down to the waistband of her jeans. I undo the top button and pull down the zipper.

"Tell me what you want, Anastasia."

I resist the urge to throw her on the bed and plow into her. This is going to be a waiting game. She needs to talk to me.

"Kiss me from here to here," she whispers, trailing her finger from the base of her ear down her throat.

My pleasure, Miss Steele. Smoothing her hair out of the way I gather her soft tresses in my hand and pull her head gently to the side, exposing her slender, long neck. I lean in and nuzzle her ear and she squirms deliciously, as I trail soft kisses following the path of her finger, and back again. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat... it's arousing.

I want to lose myself in her. Rediscover her.

"My jeans... and panties," she murmurs, and I can't help my grin against her throat. She's getting the idea. Finally... talk to me, Ana. I kiss her throat one final time, then drop to my knees in front of her, taking her by surprise. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and her panties and gently pull them down. Sitting back on my knees I gaze up her beauty as she steps out of her pumps and her clothes. Her eyes meet mine, and I await my command.

"What now, Anastasia?"

"Kiss me," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Where?"

"You know where."

I resist my smile... she really can't say the word.

"Where?" I tease.

She flushes again and with a determined, though embarrassed expression, she quickly points to the apex of her thighs.

"Oh, with pleasure," I chuckle, enjoying her embarrassment, grinning. Slowly I let my fingers travel up her legs until my hands are at her hips, then pull her sharply forward, on to my mouth. Fuck... I can smell her arousal. I'm already uncomfortable in my jeans... shit, they just got a size or three smaller. I push my tongue through her pubic hair, wondering briefly if I'll ever persuade her to get rid of this... and I find my goal, tasting her. Christ she's sweet. So fucking sweet. She groans and fists her fingers in my hair and I don't stop. Swirling my tongue, around and around, teasing and testing her.

"Christian, please," she pleads.

I stop briefly.

"Please what, Anastasia?"

"Make love to me."

"I am," I breathe, and blow gently on her clitoris.

"No. I want you inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"Please..."

No... I'm having too much fun. I continue the slow lascivious torture of my sweet precious girl.

"Christian – Please!" she moans loudly. I release her and stand, my mouth wet from me and her, and gaze down at her through hooded eyes.

"Well?" I ask.

"Well what?" she pants.

"I'm still dressed." She gapes at me, not understanding, and I hold my arms out in surrender. Take me – I'm yours.

She reaches for my shirt. Shit. No. I step back.

"Oh no..." I murmur softly. I mean my jeans, baby. She blinks as the penny drops and suddenly falls to her knees.

Whoa! Ana... what are you doing? And rather clumsily – the usual fingers and thumbs – she undoes my waistband and flies, and tugs quickly down. Fuck. Finally my cock has some room to breathe. I gaze down at her, in her submissive position on the floor. What is she trying to do to me? As she glances up I quickly step out of my clothes and remove my socks.

She reaches up and grabs my cock. Fuck. Squeezing tightly... like I've shown her.

She pushes her hand back... oh... almost too far. Almost painfully. But just the sight of her and the feel of her small hand around my favorite organ is nearly too much. I groan and tense, and close my eyes, then feel her warm, wet mouth around me. She sucks hard.

"Ahh... Ana ... whoa, gently."

As I cup her head she pushes me deeper into her mouth, her lips sheathing her teeth, pressing down on me.

"Fuck," I hiss in veneration, and involuntarily I flex my hips towards her. That feels so good. She does it again and again, and it's beyond arousing. She swirls her tongue around the end... again and again... teasing me. She's all tit for tat today. I groan loudly, reveling in the feel of her adept mouth and tongue. Christ... she's too good at this. She takes me deep into her mouth again. Fuck...

"Ana, that's enough. No more, please," I breathe through gritted teeth. She's unraveling my control. I do not want to come now – I want to be inside her when I explode.

She does it again and again. Fucking tease.

"Ana, you've made your point. I do not want to come in your mouth." I grunt.

And still she ignores me. Fuck. Enough, woman! Grasping her shoulders I pull her to her feet, lift her quickly and toss her on to her bed. I reach down into my jeans pocket, pull out a condom, drag my shirt off over my head and throw it onto the floor.

She's lying sprawled and wanton on the bed.

"Take your bra off," I command.

She sits up and hurriedly does as she's told, for once.

"Lie down. I want to look at you."

She lies back on her sheets, gazing at me. Fuck, she's lovely. I rip the foil packet open and roll on the rubber. She watches my every move, still panting. Her hair is splayed out in a luscious chestnut halo around her face. Her body is flushed a delicate pink with arousal... her nipples are hard, calling to me... her long legs are parted. Waiting for me.

"You are a fine sight, Anastasia Steele." And you're mine. Again. Crawling up the bed, I kiss her ankles, the inside of her knees, her hip, her soft belly, my tongue swirling around her navel... she moans. I lick the underside of one breast, then the other. Then I take her nipple in my mouth, teasing it, elongating it as it hardens between my lips. I pull hard, and she writhes brazenly beneath me. Patience baby... Releasing that nipple I lavish my attention on its twin.

"Christian, please..." she begs.

"Please what?" I murmur between her breasts, savoring her need.

"I want you inside me."

"Do you now?"

"Yes... please." She's all breathy and desperate. Just how I like her.

I push her legs apart with my knees. Oh, I want you too baby. I hover over her, poised and ready. I want to savor this moment, this moment when I reclaim her beautiful body, reclaim my beautiful girl.

Her blue eyes burn up at me and very slowly I sink into her. Fuck... she feels so good, so right, so tight. She tilts her pelvis up to meet me, throws her head back, her chin in the air, her mouth open in soundless adulation. She grasps my upper arms, groaning loudly. What a sweet sound it is. I put my hands around her head to hold her in place, ease out of her then slide into her again. Her fingers move to my hair, pulling at me, and I move slowly, feeling her burning warmth around me, relishing every single fucking inch of her.

"Faster, Christian, faster... please," she begs.

Her eyes are wide, her mouth slack... she looks fucking gorgeous. My mouth finds hers, claiming that too, and I start to move, really move. Your wish is my command baby. I push and push... she's so sweet. I've missed this. Missed everything about her. I lose myself in her, burying myself in her over and over again. She feels like home. She's everything. I can feel her building around me, reaching her peak. Oh, baby yes... Her legs start to tense. She's close. So am I.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," I whisper through my gritted teeth. She cries out as she detonates around me, clenching and pulling on me deep inside, and I explode... pouring my life and soul into her again and again.

"Ana! Oh Fuck – Ana!"

I collapse on her, pressing her into the mattress, and bury my face in her neck... inhaling her delicious, intoxicating fragrance. She's mine once more. No one will take her away from me. I realize in this moment of bliss that I shall do everything in my power to keep her.

Keep her mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Responses:<strong>

The following responses reflect the chronology in which the comments/review were posted.

Hi Twilight Hunger games Woman, Thank you. Surprisingly, it only took me 7-8 hours to find these outtakes over the course of one weekend.

Hi bostonstrong, I agree, then again, they were written by E.L. James, not I.

Hi Guest, Yes. These outtakes originated as Edward Cullen's POV from 'Master of the Universe' and were subsequently re-edited to reflect Christian Grey's POV in 'Fifty Shades of Grey'.

Hi Craftygirllovesfanfiction5046, Thank you. Then again, they were written by E.L. James, not I.

Hi grey shade, Thank you. I really love your word choice with reference to casting, the 'quintessence'. Brilliant term.

Yes, the studio is planning to make a motion picture for each of the three books, and I suspect that the first movie will include some of the scenes from these outtakes, namely Christian's reaction to the break-up, him running in the rain, and standing outside Ana's apartment building.

However, the plan is conditional upon the success 'Fifty Shades of Grey'—and because it's show 'business', not a show 'for fans'—if the film fails to _dominate_ at the box office, it's highly unlikely that they will proceed to making 'Darker' and 'Freed'. You're welcome. I'm glad you're enjoying these outtakes.

Hi stewartj, Thank you.

It was a pleasure conversing with you. I wish you all a safe and peaceful week, especially those in Sydney, Australia.

**Up Next: Outtake from Chapter 22 of Fifty Shades Darker—Elena's Confrontation.**


	7. Chapter 7

Hello Readers,

I'm sad to say that this is the final chapter of the 'additional' outtakes written by E. L. James. If you would like to download your own copy, Bing "Master of the Universe Outtakes – Oh Fifty." There you should find an eighty-five page PDF entitled 'Master of the Universe Outtakes Written by Snowqueens Icedragon aka EL James'.

I hope you've enjoyed reading these additional outtakes as much as I have sharing them with you.

They have certainly wet my appetite for more of Christian Grey's POV. Although, my adornment of this character may be better preserved with the unknowing, because exploring the introspection and psychology of a character that suffers from the Oedipus complex might bring into focus a clarity that may be too much to bare, if closely examined.

I would also like to reiterate that the materials in this post belongs wholly and entirely to E. L. James.

I own nothing from the world of Fifty Shades, I have profited nothing from this post and I have obtained the materials from the public domain.

I am grateful to Snowqueens Icedragon (aka E. L. James) for her decision to publish 'Master of the Universe' here on FanFiction and for persevering—through the retorts from Twihards and Twilighters—to finish her story, which has now become the literary phenomenon that is Fifty Shades of Grey. Thank you, Icy.

I have been reading Fifty Shades fanfics from the moment I finished reading the trilogy and would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the magnificent work of all the fanfic writers who have worked tirelessly to give the fans of Fifty Shades, more of E. L. James' erotic, amusing, and deeply moving love story. Which has obsessed me, possessed me, and will certainly stay with me forever.

Thank you! Fifty Shades fanfic writers for your contributions and ongoing commitment to this forum.

If I could (afford to)—I would send you all a bottle of Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999 for your generosity of time, for having the courage to share your labour of love, and for showcasing your talent without expectation of reward or remuneration.

Thank you for continuing the story and keeping these characters in my world, too.

In the absence of being able to gift you with something tangle, I sincerely wish you every success and hope that your writing yields the same success achieved by my two favourite fanfic writers turned international bestselling authors; Snowqueens Icedragon (aka E. L. James) and SebastienRobichaud* (aka Sylvain Reynard). Though self-publishing has become populist for new writers, a good Editor coupled with the resources of an international publishing house can offer you so, so much more.

To my fellow readers, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Prosperous New Year. If you are travelling during this festive holiday, may you and your loved ones travel safely.

Be well,  
>sinward.<p>

*'Gabriel's Inferno' and 'Gabriel's Rapture' originated as a Twilight Fanfiction entitled 'The University of Edward Masen' and was written by Sylvain Reynard under the pen name SebastienRobichaud.

* * *

><p><strong>Outtake from Chapter 22 of Fifty Shades Darker <strong>

**Elena's Confrontation **

**Ana's POV**

Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situation – me ashen and shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and contorts with anger as he comes to stand between us.

"What the fuck are you doing, Elena?" he says, his voice glacial and laced with menace. She blinks up at him.

"She's not right for you, Christian," she whispers.

"What?" he shouts, startling both of us. I can't see his face but his whole body has tensed, and radiates animosity.

"How the fuck do you know what's right for me?"

"You have needs, Christian," she pleads.

"I've told you before – this is none of your fucking business," he roars.

Oh crap – Very Angry Christian has reared his not-so-ugly head. People are going to hear.

"What is this?" He pauses, glaring at her. "Do you think it's you? You? You think you're right for me?" His voice is softer, but drips contempt, and suddenly I don't want to be here. I don't want to witness this intimate encounter... I'm intruding. But I'm stuck – my limbs unwilling to move.

Elena swallows, and seems to draw herself upright. Her stance changes subtly, becomes more commanding, and she steps towards him.

"I was the best thing that ever happened to you," she hisses arrogantly at him. "Look at you now – one of the richest, most successful, entrepreneurs in the US – controlled, driven – you need nothing. You are master of your universe."

He steps back as if he's been struck, and I can see his expression. He gapes at her in outraged disbelief.

"You loved it, Christian – don't try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self- destruction, and I saved you from that – saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me baby, that's where you would have ended up. I taught you everything you know – everything you need."

Christian blanches, staring at her in horror. When he speaks his voice is low and incredulous.

"You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it's empty, like you. No wonder Linc left."

Bile rises into my mouth. I should not be here. But I'm frozen to the spot, morbidly fascinated, as they eviscerate each other.

"You never once held me," Christian whispers. "You never once said you loved me."

She narrows her eyes. "Love is for fools, Christian." And she reaches up to grasp his arm, her gesture beyond patronizing.

"Get out of my house," Grace breathes.

Three pair of eyes swing rapidly to where Grace stands, on the threshold of the room. She is glaring at Elena, who pales beneath her tan.

Time seems suspended, as we collectively take a deep gasping breath, and Grace stalks deliberately into the room. Her eyes blaze with fury, never once leaving Elena, until she stands before her.

Elena's eyes widen in alarm – and Grace slaps her hard across the face, the sound of the impact resounding off the walls of the dining room.

"Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house – now!" she hisses through gritted teeth.

Elena clutches her reddening cheek, and stares in horror for a moment, shocked and blinking at Grace. Then she hurries from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Grace turns slowly to face Christian and a tense silence settles like a thick blanket over us. Christian and Grace, staring at each other. After a beat, Grace speaks.

"Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind giving me a minute or two alone with my son?" Her voice is quiet, husky, but oh-so-strong.

"Of course," I whisper.

**Christian's POV**

Out of the corner of my eye I watch Ana leave and close the door. Mom glowers at me, saying nothing, looking at me as though she's seeing me for the first time. Seeing the monster she reared but did not create. Fuck... I'm in big trouble. My scalp prickles in acknowledgement and I feel the blood drain from my face. "How long, Christian?" she says eventually, her voice soft. And I know that tone – it's the calm before the storm. Shit. How much did she hear?

"A few years," I mumble. I don't want her to know. I don't want to tell her. I don't want to hurt her... I know it will. I've known that since I was fifteen.

"How old were you?"

I swallow and my heart rate accelerates like a Formula One engine. I have to be careful here.

I don't want to cause trouble for Elena. I gaze at Mom, trying to judge how she'll react. Should I lie to her? Could I lie to her? And part of me knows I lied to her every time I saw Elena and told her I was studying with a friend.

Mom's eyes widen and she pales.

"Tell me. How old were you when this all started?" she says through gritted teeth. It's the voice that I've only heard on rare occasions, and I know I'm doomed. She will not stop until she has an answer.

"Sixteen," I whisper.

She narrows her eyes and cocks her head to one side.

"Try again," she whispers, her voice chillingly quiet. Fuck... how does she know?

"Christian," she warns, prompting me.

"Fifteen..."

She closes her eyes like I've stabbed her, her hand flying to her mouth as she stifles a sob. When she opens her eyes, they are filled with pain... and tears slowly well in them. Oh shit.

"Mom..." I try and think of something to say to take that pain away. I step towards her and she holds up her hand up to stop me.

"Christian. I am so mad at you right now. I suggest you don't come any closer."

She's threatening me with violence. Fuck, if only she knew...

"How did you know? That I lied," I ask.

"For heaven's sake, Christian – I'm your mother," she snaps irritably as she dashes a fallen tear from her cheek.

I think I actually blush, feeling stupid and slightly piqued at the same time. Only my Mom can make me feel this way – my Mom, and now Ana. Shit, I thought I could lie well.

I am so much better at it than Ana. She really is crap at lying.

"Yes, you should look shame-faced. How long? How long did you lie to us, Christian?"

Oh, she's going for the guilt angle. I shrug. I don't want her to know.

"Tell me!" she snaps.

"A few years."

"Years! Years!" she shouts, making me cringe. She so rarely shouts.

"I can't believe it... that fucking woman."

I gasp. I have never heard Mom swear. Ever. It shocks me to the core. She turns and paces to the window. I stay standing. Paralyzed. Shocked. Mom just swore.

"And to think, all the times she's been here..." Mom groans loudly and puts her head in her hands. I cannot stand by any longer. I step towards her and wrap my arms around her.

This is so new to me too... holding my Mom. I pull her to my chest, and she starts to weep quietly. "I've already thought you dead this week, and now this..."

"Mom – It's not what you think."

"Don't even try it, Christian. I heard you, I heard what you said. That she taught you to fuck."

She's said it again. I flinch – this isn't her... she doesn't swear. It's mortifying to think I have something to do with this. I would never want to hurt Grace. She saved me. In this moment remorse and penitence flood through me.

"I knew something happened when you were fifteen. She was the reason, wasn't she? The reason you suddenly calmed down, seemed to focus? Oh Christian... what did she do to you?" she sniffs.

Mom! Why is she over-reacting? Do I tell her that Elena brought me under control? I don't have to tell her how.

"Yes," I murmur. She groans again.

"Oh, Christian. I've gotten drunk with that woman, spilled my soul to her so many nights... and to think..."

"My relationship with her has nothing to do with you two."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Christian! She abused my trust. She abused my son!"

Her voice cracks, and once more she buries her face in her hands.

"Mom – it didn't feel like that."

She stands back and swats me around the head, making me duck.

"Words fail me, Christian. Fail me. Where did I go wrong?"

"Mom, it's nothing to do with you!"

"How? How did it start?" She holds her hand up and continues hurriedly, "I don't want to know that... What will your father say?"

Shit... Carrick will go ape. Suddenly I'm fifteen again, dreading another of his interminable lectures on personal responsibility, acceptable behavior and the all-American way. Christ, that's the last thing I want.

"Yes, he'll be mad as hell," Mom snaps, correctly interpreting my expression. "We knew something had happened. You changed overnight – and to think it was because you got laid by my best friend."

Right now I want the floor to swallow me up.

"Mom – it's been, it's done, it's gone. She did me no harm. I think she was a force for good."

"Christian, I heard what you said. You told her she never loved you. Never held you. I heard her cold response... and to think..." She puts her head in her hands once more.

Suddenly her eyes fly up to meet mine, and widen in horror.

Fuck... what now?

"No!" she breathes.

"What?"

"Oh no. Tell me it's not true, because I'll find your father's old pistol and I'll shoot the bitch." Fuck... Mom!

"What?"

"I know that Elena's tastes run to the exotic, Christian."

For the second time this evening I feel slightly dizzy. Shit... She must not know this.

"It was just sex, Mom," I mutter quickly – let's shut that down right now. No way am I exposing my mother to that part of my life.

She narrows her eyes at me.

"I don't want the sordid details, Christian. Because that's what this is... nasty, sordid, squalid. What kind of woman does that to a fifteen-year-old boy? It's disgusting. She should come with a health warning... Jesus! To think of the things I've told that bitch. Well – you can be sure she'll never be welcome here again." She presses her lips together in determination. "And you should cease all contact with her."

"Mom, um... Elena and I run a very successful business together."

"No, Christian. You cut your ties with her."

I stare at her, speechless. How can she tell me what to do? I am twenty-eight years old for fuck's sake.

"Mom..."

"No Christian – I'm serious. If you don't, I will go to the police."

I pale.

"You wouldn't."

"I will. I couldn't stop it then, but I can now."

"You're just real mad, Mom, and I don't blame you – but you're over-reacting."

"DON'T TELL ME I'M OVER-REACTING," she yells. Shit!

"You are not going to have any kind of relationship with someone who can abuse a troubled, immature, child!"

She's glowering at me. Christ!

"Okay..." I hold my hands up defensively and she seems to calm.

"Does Ana know?"

"Yes, she does."

"Good. You shouldn't start your married life with secrets." She frowns slightly... as if she's speaking from personal experience. Vaguely I wonder what that's about.

She recovers herself.

"I'd be interested to hear what she thinks of Elena."

"She's kind of in your camp."

"Sensible girl. You've fallen on your feet with her, at least. A lovely young woman who's the right age. Someone you can find happiness with."

My expression softens. Yes. She makes me happier than I ever thought I could feel.

"You are to end it with Elena. Cut all ties. You understand?"

"Yes Mom. I'd planned to do that as a wedding present to Anastasia."

"What? Well, you'd better think of something else! That's hardly romantic, Christian," she scoffs.

_Oh! _

"I thought she'd like that."

"Honestly, men! You have no idea sometimes."

"What do you think I should give her?"

"Oh, Christian," she sighs... then smiles at me, a small wan smile. "You really haven't taken in a word have you? Do you know why I'm upset?"

"Yes, of course." Shit... I nearly had her then.

"Tell me, then."

I gaze at her and sigh.

"I don't know, Mom. Because you didn't know? Because she's your friend?"

She reaches up and gently strokes my hair, like she used to, when I was small.

"For all those reasons... and because she obviously didn't love you. She abused you, darling. And you are so deserving of love."

Fuck. I can feel a pricking at the back of my eyes.

"Mom..." I whisper.

She puts her arms around me, calmer now, and I hug her in return.

"You'd better go find your bride to be. I shall tell your father when the party's over. No doubt he'll want to talk to you too."

"Sure, Mom." Oh shit... I want to avoid Carrick at all costs. I can just imagine what he'll say.

"I'm still mad at you. But madder at her..." Her face loses all trace of humor. I'd never realized how scary Grace can be when she wants.

"I know," I murmur.

"Go on... off you go. Find your girl." She releases me, steps back and rubs her fingers under her eyes to wipe away her smudged make-up. She looks beautiful. This wonderful woman, who truly loves me... like I love her.

I take a deep breath.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Mom."

"I know. Go." I nod, and lean down, and gently kiss her forehead, surprising her.

I head out of the room to find Ana.

* * *

><p><strong>Responses:<strong>

The following responses reflect the chronology in which the comments/review were posted.

Hi Guest, I too had the same reaction as you when I reached the end of these outtakes, but unfortunately, this is all of them.

Hi bostonstrong, I too did a happy dance (giggle) when I found these outtakes, but disappointingly, E. L. James didn't write a chapter for the Leila situation or the shower scene. As such, this is all there is of the additional outtakes written by E. L. James.

Hi Guest.

Hi Crazy70, Thank you, and now you can download your own copy by Binging "Master of the Universe Outtakes – Oh Fifty." Enjoy!

Hi Twilight Hunger games Woman, You're welcome, welcome. I'm sadden that this is the final chapter, it has been an absolute joy conversing you and everyone else who took the time to leave a comment. Thank you!

Again, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Prosperous New Year, and if you are travelling during this festive period, may you and your loved ones travel safely.

Be well,  
>sinward.<p> 


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